


ten of swords

by morexu



Series: ten of swords/temperance [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: @ the moriyamas, Canon Typical Themes, Castle Evermore, Gentleness, Healing, I, JEREMY IS A SILK GYMNAST DANCER, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Poverty, Strong Violence, a cliffhanger, a weird au idk what to call it, but for a poor person it's like the 1850's, corrupt monarchy, do some research, he's still not great though, i'm a japanese man's whore, ichirou is NOT THAT BAD OF A GUY in this au, ichirou is an emperor, if you're rich, it's like the 1910's, it's not got a strict time period, it's pretty good tbh, it's pretty rad, jean and neil become very tender, jean learns too, meets le gran hotel, noncon not depicted but discussed, ocean's eleven meets cirque du soleil meets six of crows, oof, riko is a king, royalty/magical au, scandals, sexual language used, some dubcon, ten of swords is actually a tarot card, that's a spanish drama, there's glass involved, this story starts off well and then just skeets all over the place, those bits were 100 percent gratuitous, where to start oml, y tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15860769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morexu/pseuds/morexu
Summary: Riko sank into the throne, as the people threw blossom petals and maple leaves onto the ground where they stood, screaming for the new era of peace of harmony and of prosper- as if Riko, the new King of the Moriyama Empire, would be the one to bring about the prophesised Golden Age.Riko silenced them with a single gesture, hand raised, fingers splayed. Jean was afraid to breathe. Kevin looked like he couldn’t breathe at all.All eyes were on Riko and his servants behind him.“My people,” he said grandly, with a shark-like grin, “your change has come.”and the people roared.





	ten of swords

**Author's Note:**

> my contribution to the 2018 AFTG Big Bang 
> 
> my artist is god, they saved me wholeheartedly, i love u, pls go look through the art for this fic, @uzea-ke
> 
> there's more to come, but this was my posting date so woops can i get a woop woop for time management yeet 
> 
> some notable songs i listened to while writing: gucci linen by blackbear, frankly mr. shankly by the smiths, afraid of the dark by EZI, crumbs by the belaganas

 

Jean stood by the throne, Kevin next to him like a statue- ice cold and deathly still, both of them the faithful knights to their new king, dressed up in finery like toy soldiers that commoner children played with. He kept his stone cold gaze straight ahead, watching his captor turn, the deep, blood red robe flaring out behind him in broken regalia as he presented himself before the people crowding the castle courtyard.

 

Riko sank into the throne, as the people threw blossom petals and maple leaves onto the ground where they stood, screaming for the new era of peace of harmony and of prosper- as if Riko, the new King of the Moriyama Empire, would be the one to bring about the prophesised Golden Age.

 

Riko silenced them with a single gesture, hand raised, fingers splayed. Jean was afraid to breathe. Kevin looked like he couldn’t breathe at all.

 

All eyes were on Riko and his servants behind him.

 

“My people,” he said grandly, with a shark-like grin, “your change has come.”

 

and the people _roared._  

 

______________________________________________

 

The religious portion of the coronation ceremony was long and arduous- and Jean’s head spun from standing for too long. He barely restrained the breath of relief when the Elders announced for all but Riko to leave.

 

Jean and Kevin walked in tandem, backs straight and posture stiff in the thick high-collared coats and trousers. It was ridiculous traditional finery for a winter coronation. Black, traditional spun material drawn tight across their bodies with gold laces tied up from the neck down the hips. They looked exactly as Riko prescribed them too- strong, dark, beautiful, untouchable, unattainable. It was a common thought of Kevin’s whether Jean and he were Riko’s playthings or his hitmen. Jean wasn’t sure which the better option was. On one such occasion, Jean had hushed him by tipping Kevin’s head back, fingers in his hair and laying a far too gentle kiss on his lips.

 

They reached the servant kitchens, preparing Riko’s usual magnolia tea that he drank after long ceremonies or traditional functions- and before the after-parties. It had a strong but subtle aphrodisiac that Jean had seen the effects of firsthand. It wasn’t pretty.

 

Kevin kept looking up at Jean through his eyelashes as they worked around each other, not needing words to convey what they needed. In fact, Jean hardly spoke to Kevin at all outside of their little dormitory. He found that he didn’t need to- they had learnt to communicate without them- silenced preserved utmost discretion.

 

Jean dropped the usual four drops of magnolia oil into the boiling water, stirred it three times left, four times right before taking it to the stove to the pot already ready. Kevin held it steady as Jean poured it; when it was done, he put the lid on and he carried it up the flight of marble to the royal wing.

 

Riko had made it clear from the moment he had enough power that he would only be served by his private servants. Originally, there were five servants, Jean and Kevin included, back when Riko was thirteen. But Riko was a serial partisan- and eventually no-one would do but Jean and Kevin.

 

Jean remembered nights where Riko was too frustrated to do anything but make Kevin watch as Jean weathered blow after blow, blood reaching his mouth and eyes falling shut until he could no longer feel it.

 

Jean remembered rough, impersonal fingers laying salves over him as he watch in a restless half-wakefulness. He remembers Kevin urgent voice, telling him to get up, Riko’s going before the Elders, _we’ve got go_. He remembers the frantic whispers in Reven, reminding him to stand straight. He remembers Riko slicing into his lips when he caught Kevin speaking anything other than the Naragatsuyan tongue. _Not in my empire do you disgrace my country._

 

The knife had cleanly slipped into the wet, smooth flesh in front of his bottom teeth, as Riko growled at him that _in this country we speak one language._ Kevin had watched, his eyes cold and glazed- but Jean knew that he was filled with fear.

 

Kevin had been the gentlest Jean had ever seen him later that night- kissing Jean’s cheek and his closed eyes and his forehead. Jean had drunken him in, pressing close and getting high off his closeness. They’d been seventeen then.

 

Things were different now, four years later. Kevin and Jean were older, stronger, graduated from Prince’s College and Riko was crowned to be King of Naragatsuya- under the Moriyama Empire. The Empire consisted of three countries- Revedeux, Palmetta and Naragatsuya. They all spoke separate languages, had separate cultures, had once been just _separate countries_ \- but a Great War, in which Naragatsuya had been the victor, had changed the tide.   

 

Jean turned, lost in thought. Kevin’s eyes were on him, studying him. Jean had to remind himself that Kevin didn’t care about Jean’s feelings- just whether or not he would be the cause of Kevin’s pain today. He had to remind himself that Kevin and him were as together as Riko and the  

 

“Focus,” the Palmettan man breathed, just before Riko opened the door for them.

 

The man was half-dressed in his trousers, white silk undershirt- untucked and hanging open and loose around his wafer-thin frame. Even as a child, Riko had been charmingly malnourished-looking. Jean stood, white-gloved hands held behind his back as Kevin walked in first, carrying in the tea to Riko’s bed chambers with Jean following behind. Riko studied them, before advancing on Kevin. The tea was left to cool on a tray- so rather than observe Riko seducing Kevin, Jean focused on the thin stream of steam rising from the pinholes in the top of the grey ceramic.

 

Kevin and Riko had escalated to Kevin’s hands under Riko’s shirt as they mauled each other’s mouths- and Jean steadily reminded himself that he and Kevin were merely desperate for touch and closeness after years of neglect, rather than anything emotional. That the rise of possessiveness was misguided and did not belong in him. He stood upright, staring at the steam until it lost its heat. He traded it in favour of the ornate painting on the wall.  

 

Riko didn’t turn on Jean until he had all but used Kevin as a toy. Kevin was passed out on Riko’s plush bed, naked and spent. Riko regarded him looking mostly naked and debauched.

 

“Dismissed. He will not return until well after the preparations begin. I hope that’s okay with you,” he leered mockingly, as if he knew how Jean, in all his strength and resilience against the cruel things he’d seen in his world, was disgustingly sentimental and gentle and loving at heart, and needed Kevin by his side- for everything but more importantly, for the closeness he so craved. As if he knew that Jean had grown attached- no less to someone who would never return the sentiment.

 

Kevin belonged to Riko. He always would.

 

__________________________________

 

Jean took the few hours he had before he would need to begin attending Riko for the party to change into his commoner clothes- a raggish brown coat, a long black sweater and high trousers- to sneak out and see the only other Reven person in Naragatsuya.

 

She was a seer- possessed with the ability to see into the future. There was one in Castle Evermore- an incredibly old lady named Eve. But Eve’s power was tame and weak in comparison to Renée’s. Renée’s every word was dipped in hidden meaning and metaphor; finely tuned and spun right from the Heavens. Renée was truly blessed- and Jean kept her secret hidden away- even from Kevin.

 

He kept his head down as he walked briskly through the gardens and out the servant’s gate, down to the port. He had packed a bag for her with the usual staples- food, blankets, clothes, linens for her ‘monthly discomfort’ as Renée herself had put it.

 

He walked along the rows and rows of fishing boats and felt the afternoon sun warm the back of his neck in an unfamiliar but welcome manner. It wasn’t often that he came down here and felt the sun- maybe once or twice a month, but he aimed for every week. He kept walking, the polished stones shifting underfoot as he walked into the familiar cove. It was when he walked through the streets of Naragatsuya that he remembered that these people who lived on a small wage- they were rich in comparison to the people that could barely pay for food or a shelter in Revedeux and Palmetta. The poverty that struck Revedeux and Palmetta after the Great War kept them dependent on Naragatsuya’s exportations.

 

He kept walking until he saw the faint light bleeding from Renée’s lamps and lights. He hated that she should have to live this way, in secret, in hiding- but it was where she was safest. And still he hated that.

 

She was asleep, that much was evident. He rolled the shaggy blanket up over her frail frame, and then the one he had packed for her on top, trying to keep her as warm as possible. He began cleaning her place up, replenishing water stocks, laying the cloth wrapped pieces of food in her ramshackle cabinets, along with her herbs and plants for medicinal brewing. By the time Jean had put everything back in order, she was awake.

 

She looked horrific, and it wasn’t a wonder why. Seers needed sunlight, social interaction and consistent health to fully access their power- and Renée had very little of any of those things.

 

“Oh, hello, Jean.” she smiled kindly, rubbing her eyes, addressing him in Reven. The words were like a salve on his tongue as he responded, his mouth wrapping around the familiar words and sounds.

 

“Hello, Renée. Any visions?” he asked her, as she sat up on the arrangement of stolen castle pillows and blankets, grabbing the little pot of oil Jean had brought her and lighting it with her bare hands. She began preparing her usual soup, grabbing her pot and the stolen vegetables.

 

He took her quietness as a ‘yes, Jean, they’ve been awful’ and began helping her make the food. He knew the bad news was coming before she opened her mouth- he didn’t even need to be a seer.  

 

“Jean. I have some news.”

 

Oh, the irony. Jean looked up, looking resigned.

 

“I’m… leaving. Somebody found me here. An old friend, from my years in Palmetta. And he’s going to be passing through soon, and they’re going to take me back to Palmetta, and from there I may go back to Revedeux.”

 

Jean nodded, peeling a goat’s root with one of Renée’s knives. He knew that Renée had spent many years growing up in Palmetta when she initially ran from her life in Revedeux, and he knew of many people she left there. It was really only a matter of time that one would find, and rescue her.

 

“Jean.” she reached to cup his face, and he couldn’t suppress his flinch. She sighed and leaned forward, holding his face gently and forcing his gaze up to her. “I will write. I won’t let you forget me, my dears.” she brushed her lips over his forehead and he let his lips curl at the lie. Even if she did write, Riko would never afford him the luxury of reading the letters; at most, he’d get to watch them be set alight and burn. If there was one aspect of Jean that Riko hated most, it was his tendency to attach to the closest people to him, regardless of how hard he tried. There was quiet as the soup boiled, and was poured into a bowl for her.

 

“Eat your food, Renée,” he instructed, petting down her sleep-mussed hair. “I won’t stop by next week, I suppose?”

 

“No, I suppose there won’t be the need,” she said bitterly, through a smile.

 

Jean would anyway, and Renée knew that.

 

____________________________________

 

He returned to Castle Evermore with enough time to change into his servant’s uniform and bypass the servant kitchens to find something to eat. It was one of the few perks of being Riko’s favourite among the servants- it meant no one would really contradict you on your eating habits. Riko had control over what his private servants- ‘pets’ as the other servants called them- ate and drank- along with every other aspect of their existence.

 

And because of Riko’s sudden royal requirements- council meetings, being anointed by the Elders, paperwork, paperwork, paperwork- Jean had found himself able to get away with eating what he wanted, provided it didn’t affect how he looked or how he presented himself.

 

He let himself into the kitchen, in search of one of the Head Chef’s strawberry millefeuille that she had made for the mid-morning tea for the Elders. Sometimes Jean could creep into the cooling room, and take some of the soon-to-be-thrown-away pastry, before moving back to his and Kevin’s chambers, with none the wiser.

 

Jean was wandering through the cooling room when he heard something shift, then clatter to the ground from one of the wooden shelves. He couldn’t help the leap in his chest, thinking it was Riko.

 

Or worse, Kevin, who he really didn’t want to see.

 

But it wasn’t. It was a shivering, tiny, boy; knees-to-chest behind shelves and shelves of chilled food. Jean meandered over, ready to throw the commoner boy out.

 

It wasn’t the first time- and wouldn’t be the last- that a commoner or peasant had snuck into the Castle’s kitchens for bread or milk. The less fortunate families were always sending their children out to scavenge for food and money.

 

“Are you Reven?” the boy asked, in traditional, old, Reven- and Jean paused in his thoughts.

 

“Yes, I am.” Jean stared at the boy. His hair was covered in mud and dirt, as if he was trying to conceal its colour. “And you are?”

 

“Nathaniel. I lived in Revedeux for many years.”

 

Jean rolled his eyes and leant against a beam. “If you’re here to get a job, go through the Head Chef and the Maître-“

 

And then there was a knife splitting the wood next to Jean’s forearm.

 

“I don’t need a job.” the kid- no, Nathaniel, could barely move his legs, likely from the cold- but his deadly accuracy had gotten Jean’s attention. Maybe this kid could be useful.

 

Jean took the knife out of the wood, opening his mouth to respond, before the Head Chef burst in.

 

“Mr. Moreau, if I may, could you please- what’s this?!” she shrieked, the feisty, plump lady looking down at Nathaniel. She extended a hand to him but he just glared back. He may as well have gnashed his teeth for all he looked like a wild animal.

 

“Miro, I was about to dismiss him, but he’s good with knives.”

 

“Yes, yes. He could be useful, if not, just for the after-party. He’s your responsibility. You have…” she dug around her deep apron pocket and pulled out a tiny clock on a chain. “Two hours to train him before he needs to be ready to serve. Or he gets booted.”

 

Jean nodded briskly, as she left in flurry, already fussing with a maid over some linens that weren’t ironed properly. The cooler room’s door slammed shut in her departure.

 

Jean stared down at Nathaniel, who was barely awake in his chilled state, and muttered a curse. He bent down, grabbing his bicep. As if he was a new breed of fish, he began writhing and kicking his legs out, resisting Jean’s support.

 

Jean shoved him up against the freezing tile, holding back his head. Nathaniel met his eyes, panting through gritted teeth, eyes half-open and glazed, writhing like a netted bird. Even on his way to dying of the cold, he was fighting against Jean’s hold.

 

“You do as I say. You do not leave my sight. You keep a low profile, and I will then decide what to do with you. Jean warned him, voice cold and commanding.

 

Nathaniel grunted and kicked his shin, in response, before his head lolled back and he lost consciousness.

 

Jean muttered another curse and lifted the boy into his arms.

 

__________________________________________

 

Jean had the boy wash, dress in a spare uniform, and sit in his dormitory, albeit with much difficulty. Jean had to threaten him with being thrown back outside into the cold before he became more agreeable. Kevin was still yet to return after his encounter with Riko, so the kid was sat on a dining chair as Jean stood by the door.

 

The dormitory was a fine space, in comparison to the other servant’s quarters- a window, not too large to be lavish, a space for eating, two bedchambers and a lavatory room. And in the light, and after a warm wash down, Jean saw Nathaniel. And when Jean had seen him, he stared until he saw him again.

 

The mud had been rinsed from his hair had revealed it to be fire red, the correct light and state of wakefulness revealed his eyes to be ice blue. Jean did not let himself be allured- but he took note that when he was caught staring, Nathaniel upturned his pretty lips into a smirk, and it did funny things to Jean’s breathing.

 

Not wanting to elaborate on that tangent, Jean had just rolled his eyes and continued in explaining how Nathaniel should act in the presence of guests to Castle Evermore.

 

“So, you’re saying that when a guest of foreign nobility arrives, roaring drunk, that I should encourage them not to drink more? That’s going to get me punched in the face,” Nathaniel said snarkily, filled with misguided attitude. “I thought you wanted me safe. You said so, at the same time you held your knife against my throat,” he spat truthfully, staring down at Jean with such contempt it bordered on childish. It made Jean wonder if the kid had raised himself.

 

Jean opened his mouth to respond, but just as he did so, Kevin opened the door, half dressed and looking exactly how Jean imagined he felt- sore, tired, but sated.

 

Well, until he noticed Nathaniel.

 

Kevin’s face went ash white- staring at the starving boy like he had some power over Kevin. Jean knew three people that made Kevin scared, have that kind of expression- Riko Moriyama, Ichirou Moriyama and Nathan Wesninski. Jean had his money on the latter- or at least something to do with The Butcher, but he wasn’t about to expose any connections to this stranger. Jean watched Nathaniel shift at the sight of Kevin, holding his gaze cautiously. They eyed each other with hesitance and horror, eyes wide, hands curled into tight fists at their sides.

 

And in that moment, Jean saw what he almost thought was vulnerability in Nathaniel. Just for that one second where the kid wasn’t the redhead with a smart mouth, but instead, he was a little fragile thing, needing gentleness, tenderness, and Jean’s heart lurched. It was like looking at a baby bird with a broken wing. One always wanted to take it under one’s own.

 

“You know him, then? You know what he’s done?” asked Kevin in Reven, expectant and short. Jean, despite his perpetual anger at Kevin, opened his mouth to respond, and was yet again, left to draw breath and not speak. He’d known Nathaniel all of two hours, and he was already fantasising about throttling the kid.

 

“No, he doesn’t. That much is evident.” Nathaniel leered towards Kevin, trying to get up from his position on the mattress, but fell backwards, still weak.

 

Jean turned sharply towards Nathaniel, striding over and grabbing his chin, looking at him coldly. “What don’t I know, then, _étranger_?” he demanded, voice gruff and grip vice-like, dripping with sarcastic, the Reven term for _stranger_ making Nathaniel’s smirk drop slightly.

 

Nathaniel looked up into his eyes and did the smirk that was definitely on the alluring side and Jean felt a lump rise in his throat.

 

“Anything at all, darling,” he said, saccharine sweet and mocking. Jean hit him across the face, hard. It was satisfying to finally smack the smug bastard. Damn him and his face.

 

Nathaniel didn’t retaliate, which elicited a scoff from Kevin, standing across the room, leaning against the tall, ornate armoire, and whilst it looked casual, Jean knew it was because Kevin was likely to be sore from head to toe. “So, the Baby Butcher hasn’t pulled a knife? Has he gone soft?” Kevin asked, ice cracking over each word.

 

Without hesitation, Nathaniel pulled a knife from the inside of his coat and threw his arm back swiftly, but Jean was quicker. He grabbed Nathaniel’s thin, pale wrist in his own tanned hand and pulled it down, hard enough that Nathaniel dropped the knife to the ground.

 

“So, your _father_ is the infamous Butcher. Interesting.” Jean regarded him, still holding his wrist behind his back roughly. Nathaniel hissed his breath out in between his teeth.

 

Jean turned to look at Kevin, whose face was blanched until he looked grey, still staring at the knife in Jean’s hand. As Jean let go of Nathaniel, he walked so he stood an even distance between the two, waiting for an explanation, for either one of them to break and tell him what in the Deeps was going on.

 

Kevin took one look at Jean, then to Nathaniel, then back to Jean. Jean counted the steps it took for Kevin to close the gap between the two- it was three- before he grabbed the lapels of Jean’s uniform and tugged him into a desperate kiss. Jean would die before admitting it, but he _melted_ into Kevin’s arms as the latter snaked his hands around his neck. Jean barely restrained the whimper that rose up from his throat; a creature, lush and warm, unfurled inside his stomach, pressing outwards and spreading slowly throughout him, preening at the affection, hopelessly toppling over into itself with comfort of being in warm arms.

 

And then, in a rush of wind and a click of the door, he was gone and the creature cried out, raw and insatiable, desperate for tenderness. Jean hated it, and he hated Kevin.

 

He looked towards Nathaniel, ready for some quip or smart-mouthed backhand. Jean stood  straight and looked impressively composed but felt lightheaded- from the sudden lack of airflow, he told himself- and as though he were swaying on his feet, weak in the knees.

 

Nathaniel had his red eyebrows raised at him, gesturing to the door, waving his hand. “Well? Are you going to follow him, lover boy?” he said, mockingly, and Jean just shook his head, looking at him square in the eyes.

 

“He’ll be back.”

 

Jean didn’t let his uncertainty affect his words.

 

____________________________________

 

By the time that the servants needed to start preparing for the after-party, Jean was somewhat confident that Nathaniel, as long as he stood close to Jean, wouldn’t cause much trouble in the Castle, after Nathaniel had said, “My father is the Butcher. I’m not afraid of Riko. He can’t touch me, I’m too valuable.”

 

Jean had given him a cruel glare, gripping his chin. “Little bird, you are so arrogant. Is Kevin unscathed?”

 

And after, Nathaniel had been much more tame, as if Jean’s words had struck a chord on the pretty blue-eyed lyre. The smart-assed spark and raging fire to rebel was by no means put out, though simply just iced over so that he learned scrub down dishes, fold linens and how to prepare Riko’s preferred hors d’oeuvres without much more than a sassy grumble.

 

An hour before the guests began arriving, Jean was required to begin attending Riko. He told Nathaniel to obey Miro, and to under no circumstances, chat back to her. He had nodded, staring at Jean warily.

 

Jean had to change into a separate uniform for when he was attending Riko in front of others- it was protocol, particularly when the guests were foreign nobility. The uniform was red, gold and black- black trousers, coat, and waistcoat, with twisted red and gold ropes sewn into the shoulders and on the lining of the lapels, gold buttons on the coat and the waistcoats. He had to wear a white shirt underneath, one made of foreign cotton that Jean was sure cost more than most commoners made in their lifetime. The uniform dripped expense and grandeur, much like the rest of Castle Evermore did. Jean put it on, thinking of Nathaniel, of Renée, of Kevin- whom Jean was still furious with.

 

Jean thought of hundreds of angry and reproving things to say to Kevin- _why do you sleep with him?_ and _do you love him?_ and _what am I to you?_ and _who is Nathaniel to you?_ and _fuck you, where are you, I need you, please, I need you with me._

He had decided on nothing when he knocked on the door to Riko’s chambers. There was silence for a long minute, and Jean’s heartrate picked up, beginning to quicken until it thumped against his chest. Riko usually had someone open the door- the only time it hadn’t been opened within ten seconds was when Jean had found Kevin passed out, bruised and naked and Riko, looking dishevelled and debauched, smoking opium, high of his ass as he opened the door.

 

Jean had felt like throwing up, and from the slow, sadistic grin the spread over RIko’s face, Jean knew he could tell.

 

From then on, Riko had invited Jean to watch.

 

When Riko opened the door, Jean felt his soul leave his body with fear. He knew that if his hands weren’t gripping each other like a lifeline, they would be trembling. Riko’s eyes- red, bloodshot, dark, explained everything Jean needed to know about what he was going to suffer.

 

Jean knew of the fists, of the knife, of the ropes before Riko had even brandished them. He knew of the feeling of the tip of the blade slipping under his skin before it was there, felt the drip of the blood over his hipbones, heard the laughter, tasted the metallic, saw the scars- and he was yet to step over the threshold.

 

_______________________________________

 

 

Jean had passed out at some point during Riko’s playtime- but when he woke, it was to incredible pain. There was leather in his mouth, rough over his tongue, and he worked on making indents into it, as he panted through gritted teeth. There was a sharp, stinging, piercing pain again, followed by a wet burning pain, and Jean nearly screamed.

 

He was yet to even open his eyes because whatever liquid was being dripped over his wounds was forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut, grunting in pain. He prepared for another of Riko’s blows, praying to Renée’s Heavens that this would end soon enough that he would be able to keep composed during the after-party.

 

Then there was a tender patting of a warm cloth over it, and it startled Jean enough to choke on the leather.

 

Cold fingers took the hide away and Jean blinked the tears out of his eyes, to stare up at Nathaniel. The boy was still, calm, and clinical as he regarded Jean.

 

“We have to be guest-ready in half an hour, so I’m sorry if this is more harsh and painful than it need be.”

 

Jean couldn’t speak; he just nodded. On occasion, Kevin would afford Jean this same luxury- a needle and thread over the deepest cuts, one of the medic’s salves over the bruises and gentle touches.

 

However Riko wasn’t daft and it became routine that after Riko would have his way with Jean, instead of dismissing them both, he would have his way with Kevin. Jean remembered the pain he felt- the throbbing of his wounds and the ache in his head and the tremble in each breath. Then when he was graced by the Heavens with a moment where he wasn’t blinking stars from his eyes or fighting unconsciousness, he was oppressed with low moans and cries out in pleasure from someone he desperately needed.

 

Jean was tugged from his thoughts by the lack of pain he was feeling, and the cold stare of Nathaniel. But to Jean’s surprise, Nathaniel’s voice was soft and careful when he enquired, “Where’d you go?”

 

Jean stared at him, concealing his surprise with a sharp, “Nowhere.”

 

Nathaniel just shrugged and continued his sewing with steady hands and a composed stature. Jean never ceased to consider Nathaniel an enigma. Nathaniel did not need to be kind to him- he had been her merely hours and was still recovering from hypothermia- there was barely any reason for him to be here, helping him like Kevin did.

 

He was all sewn up physically when he had been summoned by a maid to come to the dining hall, but his head was in shambles. He was dizzy, shaking, and trying very hard to remain conscious. He tugged on his ridiculous uniform; doing up the buttons and hoping the waistcoat would hide the bloodstains. As he got up to leave, Nathaniel stopped him.

 

“Also, I should inform you… Kevin has disappeared. He is nowhere in the Castle or on the grounds. There’s a search party out for him, but… Riko found out not long ago. I will take the liberty of assuming that this is a result of that particular revelation.” Nathaniel explained, voice without edge, soft in tone. Jean noted the use of alternate words, kinder ones that were used around children, to protect them from the coarseness of the truth. However, Jean wasn’t fooled. Jean just shook his arm out of Nathaniel’s grip, nodding soberly. The truth was not lost on Jean- Kevin had escaped, and Riko’s men could not recover him.

 

“Don’t do anything daft whilst I’m gone.”

 

And with that, he left the room, the lock making a soft click behind him. He carefully, but as swiftly as possible, descended the faculty stairwells until he arrived at the dining room entrance. As with most rooms, there was a servant entry on the opposite side of the room to the guest entry. He cursed repeatedly in his head at the constant pains and aches hidden beneath the fine uniform he wore. He pushed open the servant doors, unsurprised at the sight.

 

It was hard to distinguish between nobility and those who were simply rich beyond belief- every person was dripping with finery and expense, the diamonds and jewels adorning each throat, the polished suits, the satin gloves, gold plated canes and practised Naran spoken in every corner of the room. Everything had a golden sheen; the marble walls reflecting the shining golden chandeliers made it look ethereal and Heavenly, like people becoming Gods. Jean wondered idly if any of them were religious- but upon a more sensible thought, he decide that they were not.

 

He wound his way around people, hands behind his back, making a beeline for the guest entry, awaiting word that Riko would be arriving. The guest entry was up a flight of stairs- also made of marble- which Jean climbed slowly, feeling each step cause a tremor of pain through his frame. When he reached the top, he allowed himself a slow exhale in lieu of the deep exhale he wanted to let free. He stood near the door guards, who regarded him with a slight incline of their heads.

 

Jean busied himself with watching the party beneath him. It hadn’t even started yet, but members of the young nobility congregated around, talking and laughing and drinking.

 

Jean, whilst waiting, made subtle, mental notes of the nobility, as they asked him to pour them champagne and gin and the floral potion-like drinks that Jean never had to learn to make. He watched them fondle their jewels, and talk with much pride about their distant, younger descendants. He had sometimes nudged Kevin, when they stood guard of Riko as such, to point out ridiculous things- a drunken lord, a long suffering wife or husband, dragged along, a lady being accused of theft of a courtly man’s heart- but Kevin had never responded much, only watching Riko out of fear of doing anything else.

 

Before long, Jean received word from a waiter that Riko would be entering the room with a guest- and one that would cause quite a stir. For a moment, Jean’s heart leapt, thinking immediately that it would be Kevin- but the doors opened and revealed Riko, composed and regal, dressed simply in his usual after-party attire of black trousers, white undershirt, black waistcoat and royal red wrap, pinned around his shoulders. He was beaming, leading someone in by the hand, lifting the other’s hand high between them, as per protocol.

 

It wasn’t the ridiculously fine, charcoal suit that drew Jean’s attention, nor the fine and sleek shoes- but instead the flame red hair. Jean would be lying if he said that Nathaniel didn’t look exactly like someone he’d bed, but it was hardly relevant when all Jean had asked was for the simpleton to keep a low damn profile. And now here was Nathaniel, dressed like a plaything and hand in hand with Riko.

 

They didn’t meet eyes as Riko led Nathaniel away- not until the mop of fire-hair turned to reveal a sinister grin aimed directly at Jean, as the pair made their way to the ledge of the first stair. Riko gestured grandly at Nathaniel, and the crowd applauded.

 

“Friends,” he began, addressing the crowd, working them up, getting them excited, “the prodigal son returns. After many years of travelling, Nathaniel Wesninski, son of my father’s closest friend, Nathan Wesninski, has returned to the Castle to become one of my own closest advisors.” Riko guided Nathaniel down the stairs, and Jean, with a hawk’s eye and close attentions on Nathaniel, could see him tremble with fear, juxtaposed against his broad and dazzling grin, not quite reaching his eyes. He could see the tenseness in Nathaniel’s arm as Riko held it, as he followed a few paces behind them. He wished to lay a hand on the back of Nathaniel’s neck, knowing from his observations of Kevin that the boy was drowning in anxiety and needed to be brought back down.

 

And for once, Renée’s Heavens answered his thoughts, because Riko turned to Jean, leaning in unnecessarily close to murmur, “I can attend myself tonight. You are to make sure he doesn’t run.” Riko patted his cheek condescendingly, and he refrained from the flinch that threatened. “By whatever means necessary.”

 

And Jean knew he meant violence, harsh words, a threat, something cruel, but he felt his stomach flip with the opportunity to guide Nathaniel away from the party- if only for mere minutes- to bring him back to earth and out of the fear.

 

Jean nodded and made a start for Nathaniel, who hadn’t strayed far. Jean pressed close to his side and laid a hand over the small of his back, guiding him to a less populated section of the room, behind a pillar. In was in one of the few places that the light didn’t reach, making it dark and more human, more attainable. He could feel the tension wound up tightly in Nathaniel’s frame, up until he dropped his hand.

 

Jean rounded on him, standing close, forcing the shorter boy’s eyes to meet Jean’s. He held their gaze for unusually long before speaking softly in Reven.

 

“Little bird, you have much to explain to me,” he began, the nickname morphing from something mocking to something bordering on endearment- knowing that in this moment, the boy needed not to be beaten until he could see straight again, but to be talked down until he could take more of Riko’s grip, his harshness. Jean just _knew_ that Nathaniel felt like this because he’d seen it in himself for so long. He’d _begged_ for Kevin to be there for him, to hold him, but he was never there and Jean,

 

“He made me your equal,” Nathaniel said, looking up at him, chest lifting and dropping faster and faster. His tone was flat, emotionless, and well-practised in hiding emotion.

 

 

“He did,” he acknowledged, nodding. “From now on, we move together. I am the only ally you have. Your failure is my failure, and mine is yours.”

 

Nathaniel nodded at that, leaving a beat of tentative silence before grabbing Jean’s hand and bringing it to his cheek. Jean felt his warm hand hit cold cheek, and watched Nathaniel focus on his breathing, his eyes fluttering closed and his chest moving less rapidly. Jean reached up, cupping his face with his hands, and the tension slowly bled out of Nathaniel. Jean looked up briefly, analysing the crowd- and found they were all too drunk and too focused on Riko to notice them.

 

Jean had once walked into his chambers, finding Kevin curled up under the thin sheets, trembling and whimpering, sweaty and bruised. Jean had been punched in defence when he initially tried to touch him, but he was left undeterred. He just sat by Kevin, waiting with patience to rival only Renée’s, until Kevin calmed enough to pull Jean into bed with him, clinging to the Reven boy’s lean frame. Jean had run his fingers through his hair and whispered kind things to him until he stopped trembling. Kevin had pulled him closer and kissed him silly, shaking any trace of Riko off of him entirely, until Jean’s head spun and he was gasping for breath, and for some kind of intimacy. Anything, a kind word, a fond touch.  

 

But Kevin had simply buried his face in Jean’s neck and fallen into a deep sleep, leaving Jean with his feelings.

 

But here was Nathaniel- shaky, leaning against a pylon- hiding away in Jean’s presence, his cool and calm aura. Jean just grounded him, looking around and telling Nathaniel of the couple who think their being discreet but are indeed making an entire table feel awkward with their indiscreet games of debauchery under the table. Jean watched Nathaniel calm until he could stand straight, before he’s giving a chuckle at Jean’s updates, listening in and understanding rather than just using it as a tactic of calming down.

 

“It seems as though _Monsieur Vagin’s_ right hand has finally risen to the surface, much to his mistress’ disturbance…” and Nathaniel snorted and turned to look at the table. They watched for a moment before Nathaniel turned back to Jean, looking at him in a calm, almost happy kind of expression- Jean fancies it a silent _thank you_ \- before returning to Riko’s side all glamourous and pretty, like he had not a care in the world.

 

_______________________________________

 

Jean wasn’t sure what they morph into, and he was tentative to label it even though he was desperate to call it friends. Riko had not yet managed to squander few things in Jean- including his desperate need for belonging, for company. The silence of being alone reminded him of his few years in Revedeux. He was self-aware enough to see that in himself. He was also self-aware enough that he’s beginning to understand why he and Kevin never worked.

 

Because Nathaniel was all jagged edges, snark and bite, but for the quiet mornings that Jean and Nathaniel don’t have to wake up until mid-morning (because Riko’s out of town and the maître d’ isn’t going to rat Jean out for catching a few more hours of sleep, and by extension, Nathaniel) and Jean can see the sun leaking in through the curtains over Nathaniel’s freckly skin, he knows there’s more to the boy. A gentleness that is indicative of having being cared for in a normal way, not as Jean imagined the Butcher would treat his children. Jean has so many questions.

 

They had, however, fallen into somewhat of an autonomous routine. Similar to how Jean and Kevin used to be, but with less painful silence. Instead, there were conspiratorial glances at pompous nobility that had Jean almost smiling, subtle mockeries of how people walked and of how the Seer looked when she was obviously exaggerating her readings. It was- and it was only sometimes- Nathaniel sticking closer to Jean when he could be someone else, tapping their fingers together. It was Nathaniel patching Jean up in the first weeks when Kevin hadn’t come back, after Riko needed an outlet. Jean couldn’t remember much from those weeks, but it was mostly looking up at Nathaniel’s face as the smaller boy ran needles and thread through his skin, pouring sharp alcohol over the worst bits to stop affection, and the soft kiss on his forehead. Jean figured the little pieces of affection kept them both present, alive, as if maybe the castle didn’t have to be such a hellhole.

 

After the first week, all the dirt and mud had been properly washed out of Nathaniel, as per Riko’s request. In a similar fashion to all the servants, but mostly similarly, to Jean and Kevin, Nathaniel had been bathed in the nicer salts; with some of the maids brushing through his tangled hair and making it look brilliantly, fiery red.

 

Jean watched as Nathaniel got treated differently- especially amongst those who were closer to Jean on the hierarchy, and those who had the finer details of the Moriyama’s secret businesses. Even when Riko had seemingly disappeared a month after his coronation, with little more than “private business” as en explanation, Nathaniel was treated to finer luxuries.

 

Jean theorised that no one wanted to be on the Butcher’s son’s bad side, but he was hardly complaining when Nathaniel would return from his rounds with fresh, soft linens and pastries.

 

Some mornings, where they allowed themselves to melt into the sheets, melt into the sunlight and melt into each other, they forgot about scars and torture and fathers and Riko, and Nathaniel would reveal something lavish a member of the council or a visiting member of a lesser Moriyama branch and they would indulge themselves in whatever it would be. Riko’s absence, as months went past, had given both boys some respite- they were cold, hardened, and they were irreparably damaged in places, but Jean felt as the time wore away the stone around his smile. 

 

On one such morning, Nathaniel stirred slightly and murmured mostly into his pillow, “Are you sure Kevin is coming back?”

 

Thing is, Jean isn’t. Not anymore. It’s debatable that he ever did, looking retrospectively at how Kevin had kissed him, such finality in a single gesture that he was hardly ever afforded. Kevin’s gone, Renée’s gone, and Jean’s alone.

 

Except he’s not, because he’s got Nathaniel.

 

“Just as sure as I am about you,” he responded, which made Nathaniel give a snort.

 

“You know lots about me, I’m sure,” the fire-headed boy said bitingly, as Jean watched his lean frame shift under the covers until he was entirely revealed, scars littering his body as he soaked up the sun that shone on his bed. Jean couldn’t help but notice how, with the constant and consistent eating, Nathaniel had thickened up in frame, attaining a healthier glow. Jean saw how the faint beauty in the frail, weakened boy had revealed itself truly in the healthy young man that lay before him.

 

“I know what they say, but not you,” Jean replied diplomatically, as he tried and failed to put a number to the silvery stories imprinted into Nathaniel’s skin. They were talking in Reven, probably louder than advisable. Walls weren’t thin, and their quarters were at the end of a long hallway, but even a hint of anything but traditional Naran would be the end of the rare quietness that had settled over the staff in Riko’s post-coronation absence.

 

Nathaniel slid on a pair of soft linens- no doubt a gift from a distant Moriyama relative- over his thin legs and moved to sit over Jean’s thighs. Jean sat back, propped up on his elbows and looked up at Nathaniel with surprise. They’d held each other, protective and grounding- and Jean blames his intrinsic need to nurture for that- but this was… different. More.

 

Nathaniel took one of his Jean’s hands and ran it over a thick, raised scar above his hip. “You want to know me? This was my birthday present from my father six years ago. That night my mother took me away for good, hid me away in a Seer community, and left me there, to finish growing up. It didn’t work, and she got murdered because of it. I’ve been on the run since,” he said, voice brittle and taut, terse and cold in how he relayed a pivotal and harrowing experience.

 

“You have Seer blood?” Jean asked curiously, his thumb tracing the scar absently, as if trying to rewrite over the trauma and replace it with something gentle.

 

Nathaniel gave a cold snort, mirthless and unforgiving. “Half. My mother was untrained, so she became weak in her power. I’ve never tried to do anything with it. For some reason, I’ve never wanted to know details of my, or anyone else’s, fate.”

 

Jean eyed him curiously and nodded sagely after a moment, but then pulled off his own thin shirt and pointed to a long, seam like scar on his chest, just below and in between his pecs.

 

“The last time Kevin had to be taken away from him,” he confessed, restoring the equilibrium between them. A truth for a truth. Jean was still running his thumb over Nathaniel’s scar, soft and grounding. “But why confess to me now? Why… all this?” he tapped the outside of Nathaniel’s thigh with two fingers, testing the waters.

 

Nathaniel just smirked his tell-tale smirk. “Riko’s being uncharacteristically silent towards us both, even in his absence,” he looked at him, squinting until Jean felt the corner of his lips upturn at that and Nathaniel gave a triumphant pat to Jean’s stomach, with those long, scarred fingers.

 

“And we’re friends, no?” he asked, tilting his head to one side. Jean likes the way the stream of sun is just catching half his face, setting fire to his burning hair and paling his blue eyes, catching the scar along his fine cheekbone, almost making the skin shimmer. Jean also likes the way the Reven rolls off their tongues, sweet like sugar syrup and lavish like the silk sheets Jean had folded a thousand times.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend before,” Jean responded, hoarser than he intended, coming out rough around the edges. Whether Nathaniel looking angelic or the honesty in his statement was to blame, Jean wasn’t going to analyse it any further.

 

Nathaniel pouted- _pouted-_ upon hearing that, and shifted down so they were chest to chest. “Me either. But I think I’d like to be yours, Jean,” he murmured, before ever-so-gently putting their lips together.

 

Jean wasn’t sure that kissing counted as something friends usually did, but Nathaniel was warm and pliant- a rare, marvellous thing- and telling him whole truths and not the half-truths he so often had received, and Jean wasn’t complaining. He couldn’t, not in the face of a beautiful thing in his bed; skin on skin, unhurried and untainted by the injustice of Riko’s reign and torture, something pure and something sweet, and Jean thought maybe that Nathaniel was strawberry millefeuille. That one, exquisite, beautiful delicacy that will easily crumble when prodded but, in the right hands, can be dangerous and addictive, beautiful; threatened one’s health but made you feel so good.

 

And Jean, angry, lonely, tired, Jean- he knew that Nathaniel might be worth sneaking into the kitchens for.

 

________________________________

 

Riko was officially off Castle Evermore grounds, travelling to Revedeux for introductory dinners as the new King of Naragatsuya. Jean knew how much it ailed Riko not to be Emperor- but that spot was reserved for his older brother, Ichirou. He watched as Riko grew up in the shadow of Ichirou, the horror of being the second born.

 

Jean hadn’t seen Ichirou in person since his induction of Emperor. He was often travelling, and when he was in the Castle, it was in the Emperor’s Wing, which took up almost a third of the massive Castle.

 

Nudging him from his reverie, Nathaniel tapped their shoes together as they stood at the table of The Council, reminding Jean not to adopt a bored or glazed over look. It was almost the end of the last course, meaning Jean and Nathaniel would be officially dismissed. It was about time- they’d been standing and serving for almost eight hours as men and women argued and bantered over matters of ethics, politics and the major cause for concern in the Empire- uprisings and rebellions.

 

“Our last topic of discussion will be the significant uprising in Palmetta over the past few months, due the formation of a new rebellion group. Our forces have done their best to eliminate members of this group, but they are evasive and nomadic, and very… I despise to say, but they are quite clever and cunning in how they evade us,” Councillor Shibita explained, talking to the group, looking weary but still sharp. Jean knew him as the former Head of the Royal Wing, the one who held a beating stick willingly and had a predilection for discipline. Suffice to say, Jean had a special place reserved for this man on his hit list.

 

A small, pudgy man spoke from the other end of the table. “If we were to hold a… celebration. It is a time of celebration, and we are yet to celebrate King Riko’s coronation with the countries that are not associated with the Empire, or within relative proximity. We could assert alliance with stronger powers that are beyond our Empire to quiet them down. Earn their trust before the rebels can.”

 

Jean looked up warily at Nathaniel, who was looking stoically ahead. Another celebration meant Riko’s return in preparation. Which meant the end of Riko’s travels, as well as the end of Nathaniel and Jean’s little holiday. The thought made Jean’s

 

“Speaking of,” a distant relative of the Moriyama’s said, “where is our absent king? Since his coronation, he has been associating with Revedeux and Palmetta in such proximity that not only his safety must be questioned, but also his honour to this country.”

 

Many men and women at the table bristled at that, looking at the Naran man in a mix of alarm and disgust. There was a few moments of silence, of confusion, before there was a knife zipping through the air, a direct separation of the two sides of the long table. Jean’s eyes tracked it flying through the air, watching it split the man’s left eye down the centre, there was a garbled cry ringing through the air. Nathaniel and Jean, unlike the council and the nobles, did not flinch as the man fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Jean finally turned to the owner of the knife, standing against the frame of the private room.

 

Ichirou Moriyama, Emperor and Head of the Moriyama family and dynasty stood casually but reeked of power and expense, and Jean could only watch as the man spoke-

 

“Nathaniel, if you don’t mind,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the man writhing on the beautiful, blood stained carpet with the knife still in his eye.

 

Nathaniel nodded curtly, pulling out the knife in a long sweep of his arm, dropping to his knees. He laid a hand on the man’s forehead, as if to check for a fever, but Jean saw how the closeness to the injury incapacitated the barely conscious man. Jean watched Nathaniel’s hand get slick with blood, his grip on the knife never failing as he slipped it under and between the man’s ribs. It was a show, a mockery of care, all under the eye of the Emperor.

 

Eventually, Nathaniel administered the fatal blow, the sharp curve of the knife slipping through the fine, creped skin of the aged man’s chest, angled perfectly to slide between bones and muscle and into his barely beating heart. Some council members watched with vague disgust, but most of them remained impassive, turning to look at Ichirou.

 

When Nathaniel stood, blood on his hands, Ichirou spoke. “Is there any other member of council that wishes to complain about your King? Be assured, that Riko is merely associating in business that concerns matters so far beyond you that he may as well be in the Deeps.”

 

That roused a few smirks and huffs of laughter from the table, but Jean’s face remained cold, watching Nathaniel out of the corner of his eye. He seemed cold, stony faced and stoic. As Ichirou entertained the group for a little while longer, Jean felt the tiredness sink into his bones. He ached from standing up for so long, and no doubt, there would be errands to run tomorrow.

 

“And you won’t need to worry for long, as my brother returns tomorrow evening.”

 

Jean felt Nathaniel twitch next to him, pale blue eyes coming to rest directly onto Jean. His own heart leapt at that, blinking a little slower and giving a little sigh through his nose. They knew their little relief period was not forever, but this abrupt ending left a bitter taste in Jean’s mouth. He thought they’d have more time.

 

Ichirou finished speaking to the group eventually, dismissing the meeting. The members stood and departed without much fuss, leaving Nathaniel, Jean and Ichirou in the room. Ichirou’s cold gaze landed on Nathaniel.

 

“Never did I think that Nathan’s little birdy would return…It seems you have grown up, ready to take over from your father, no?” he asked, bending over and grasping Neil’s pale chin between his gloved fingers. Jean watched Nathaniel’s face remain impassive, cool eyes returning a steel gaze.

 

“Well, I’m here now,” he sniped back, looking every inch as vicious and Jean knew Nathaniel could be. Ichirou’s face shifted into something akin to amusement, and Jean had so many questions. He remained stoic, however, until Nathaniel said, “With respect, your highness, I have a big day to prepare for tomorrow, and if you wish Riko’s private servants to remain awake and alert during his arrival then you must dismiss us.”

 

Ichirou huffed a little laugh and let go of Nathaniel’s face, moving gracefully to the little cart that had been set up with refreshments for the meeting. Jean set it up himself. Ichirou poured himself a glass of something of a fine, auburn colour and eyes Nathaniel.

 

“Your father has said much about you. I’m sure you are serving Riko well. Moreau? Have you taught him adequately?”

 

Jean nodded and looked at Ichirou with polite and fake interest. “Yes, your majesty. Riko has been very pleased with Nathaniel.”

 

Ichirou regarded the redheaded boy more coolly. “Of course, it would be my brother to make a weapon as fine as Nathaniel a plaything, a toy…” he said, but at Nathaniel’s twitch at the corner of his mouth, easily missed but obviously not to Ichirou, “or perhaps just a show pony? How _interesting_.”

 

The Emperor gave a cool laugh. “Well, this has been extremely enlightening. You are dismissed,” he said off-handedly, seemingly bored with a flippant hand gesture.

 

Jean and Nathaniel walked quickly and quietly to their quarters, Jean rounding on Nathaniel as soon as the heavy door shut.

 

“You are of greater significance than I could have ever imagined,” he mumbled, any sort of irritation or anger he was trying to convey, fizzling out as he was clearly distracted by Nathaniel’s lips.

 

Nathaniel just gave a soft huff, looking away. “You already knew that my father was the Butcher, was it silly of me to think you would make the inferences yourself?” he mumbled, running a hand through Jeans hair, reaching up almost comically far.

 

Jean scowled down at him, tilting his chin up, a mimicry of how Ichirou had held him. However the tenderness, the undemanding nature of the hold made it so starkly different that Jean was not like him. He wasn’t like any of them, he’d sooner die than become like the other men in Nathaniel’s life.

 

“Don’t be mouthy, _mon petit_ ,” he admonished, nigh playful in how serious it wasn’t.

 

“Hm, make me,” Nathaniel grinned up at him, a twisted, dark kind of grin. It wasn’t soft- Nathaniel wasn’t usually, not like this- but it was something. The beginning of something more genuine, deeper than they had travelled before.

 

Jean hummed under his breath, carefully picking Nathaniel up by the thighs and carrying him to Jean’s bed, though really there was just one from how tightly the soft-with-wear mattresses were pushed together. Riko’s absence had really had made them a little too comfortable, in everything.

 

Jean pushed Nathaniel back as the smaller boy tugged at Jean’s uniform, flicking away the suspenders, unclipping them. Jean stepped back to shrug off the jacket, letting it fall to the ground. Jean wasn’t ashamed of his scars, and that much was evident as he stood before Nathaniel and unbuttoned the white shirt, throwing that off. Nathaniel sat up on the bed, biting his lip and hooking his fingers in Jean’s trousers and pulled him forward, Jean’s knees hitting the bed. Jean untucked the white singlet, Nathaniel’s mouth attaching itself to just below Jean’s navel as Jean tugged off the singlet, pink lips soft and unrelenting. Nathaniel kissed and nipped and sucked, fiddling with the buttons on Jean’s trousers.

 

Jean huffed, cheeks darkening. He ran his fingers through Nathaniel’s curls, trying to push him lower slightly.

 

Nathaniel had been like this before, racy and coaxing, but Jean had tried not to escalate their relationship beyond hands and mouths in quiet spaces, but this time was different. This was tender but playful and so distant from everything Jean had ever known, and frankly, he’d rather die than put an unnatural end to it.

 

Jean watched as Nathaniel took him in hand, not gentle, not soft but intimate and present. He started at a bruising pace that leaves Jean panting, and then a melted mess once Nathaniel wrapped his lips around him. Jean wasn’t sure if Nathaniel had ever done this outside of their bedroom, but he finds himself not really caring.

 

“You’re so fucking good at that,” Jean mumbled, hearing himself more than saying it. Nathaniel, the big mouthed and talkative nuisance he was, tried to mumble back in response around Jean’s cock. Jean huffed in amusement, and received a scowl from the red head, but Jean didn’t really care for it, except the expert way Nathaniel’s tongue wound around his head.

 

The raw, playful amusement in both of them didn’t peter out, even as Jean held Nathaniel in the soft light of their afterglow. Jean, in his slight haze, could make comparisons of how he used to hold Kevin and how he now held Nathaniel, but he decided that it wasn’t worth his time.

 

Nathaniel was everything Kevin had never been, and more.

 

 

They woke before the sun, silent and dutiful as they dressed, bathed and prepared for the morning. They coexisted, acknowledging each other’s presence in how they moved, but also aware of the mile high dread at the thought of Riko’s return that evening. At the sound of footsteps down the hall to their quarters, Jean gently faced Nathaniel, cupping his scarred, soft cheeks. Nathaniel leant into him, pressing their foreheads together, breathing the same air, holding onto each other’s warmth. It was foreign to both of them, Jean filing the gesture under something done only in moments where fear and anxiety crept up on both of them.

 

Nathaniel had once told Jean that he did not fear Riko, but in the year that Jean had known him and the months where they had been... _friends_ , Jean had learned differently.

 

Nathaniel did not, perhaps, fear death. He did not fear that one day the light- however faint, or dulled- would fade from his eyes and his soul would travel to the Deeps. But, Jean knew, Nathaniel feared Riko delving into him. And Jean knew, that above all, Nathaniel feared that one day he would be revealed half Seer.

 

Jean, a simple-blooded man, did not fully comprehend why such a thing would shake someone as weathered as Nathaniel, until he saw a faintly Seer girl get brutally executed before the Council when they realised she would not suit their needs.

 

And Jean realised something he should have realised before. Nathaniel- in Riko’s possession- cannot be harmed by his Father. Nathaniel, now a member of staff in the Castle, a high servant to the King of Naragatsuya, would not go quickly. He had roots higher than Nathan Wesninski, and there was nothing the Butcher could do about it.

 

 

Jean drew away from Nathaniel, both of them turning to the doorway, hand towels made of fine material hanging from their forearms, draped across their torso.

 

“Your assistance in the main dining hall,” said a newer servant, newly hired to be a washgirl. They followed her out, walking with Jean in front, Nathaniel behind, towards the main dining hall.

 

The day passed quickly, Nathaniel and Jean often separated- Jean to do more manual labour and Nathaniel to check the newly installed gas heating and lighting fittings. By the afternoon, every muscle in Jean’s arms and back ached for mercy, but nothing in his strict posture showed as much. Nathaniel had tiny cuts and blisters covering his palms and fingers, the sharp glass of the bulbs and the constant tightening obviously grating on him also.

 

Jean wasn’t sure about Nathaniel, but he hadn’t be able to stop all day, not even long enough to eat, so at the next moment that Jean saw Nathaniel, he tugged him by the arm into the kitchen.

 

Nathaniel scowled at him at first, but as soon as he studied Jean’s face, Jean watched as his gaze softened around the edges, however grudgingly.

 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, but you look hungry anyways,” he said, keeping a careful distance from Nathaniel so not to give anyone any inclination of they were anything more than servants, co-workers, maybe friends. 

 

Jean didn’t really think that many people were even caring to watch them, considering how the cookery section of the kitchens was positively bustling with preparations for Riko’s return. Jean felt a stab of sympathy for them, not being told of Riko’s arrival until yesterday, only hours before Jean himself.

 

Of course, Riko would expect a full Council meeting, including light refreshments and offered food, followed up by a long, superfluous banquet on the day of his arrival- not to mention any other requests made by Riko that need preparation prior. Jean made sure to slip in and out of the pantry quick enough to go mostly unnoticed, whilst Nathaniel sat atop a bench with a nigh bored expression, but Jean saw how he leant towards the left, shifting his weight as if uncomfortable, before catching Jean in the latter’s surveillance.

 

Jean walked towards him, bread and jam in hand. Nathaniel grabbed the loaf and moved to tear it in two, but faltered at Jean’s horrified expression.

 

“ _Irrespectueux_ ,” he admonished, trying to sound serious, but even he couldn’t miss the fond edge. He spoke incredibly softly, praying to the Deeps that no one heard him speaking in Reven. He took the bread back, holding it carefully, taking one of the fancier silver knives and slicing thick pieces of the soft, white bread and handing three pieces to Nathaniel, before cutting more for himself.

 

He took the knife and spread the jam over the bread- an even, slightly thick layer- before holding each piece out to Nathaniel, who ate it quickly, obviously more focused on eating it than enjoying it.

 

Though, after each piece was consumed, Jean took much pleasure in wiping a smear of berry-red jam away from the corner of Nathaniel’s mouth before walking back out to the chaos that was Castle Evermore.

 

Unlike how many people expected, there was climax to which Jean could say he felt upon Riko’s return. There was a warning when Riko’s carriage had rolled into the Castle Grounds, while Jean and Nathaniel waited at the grand entrance to which Riko would eventually walk up and through.

 

Jean waited to see if Nathaniel would tense, or give any inclination of fear or trepidation, but he did not find any present. The redheaded boy remained seemingly at ease, as he stood with pride but humbly, something Jean had taught him many months ago. Jean took a moment to assess how far Nathaniel had come in terms of Castle etiquette and manner. He didn’t dare take credit for his progress, but he did acknowledge that Nathaniel would probably be dead if it weren’t for Jean. So he had that going for him.

 

Jean watched with mild anxiety as the carriage rolled over the fine gravel towards the wide, marble steps. Jean and Nathaniel stood at the edge of the bottom step, looking ready and professional. Riko stepped out of the carriage, the driver shutting the door behind the young King. He walked with purpose towards Jean and Nathaniel, fine black overcoat billowing behind him, gaze even, head held high. With each metre closed by Riko’s swift and graceful steps, Jean felt his shoulders brace, as if for impact. However Riko barely regarded Jean, but instead leaned into Nathaniel, holding his chin. It was, in Jean’s mind, a mimicry of Ichirou’s hold on Nathaniel not even a day ago.

 

Riko muttered something unintelligible to Jean to Nathaniel, who ducked his head, leaning into Riko’s hold as the latter’s lips brushed the pale, freckled cheek that Jean had lavished so much care upon many a night. It took every fibre of restraint in Jean’s body not to flicker his gaze or express his discomfort, focusing on keeping his breathing even.

 

Nathaniel fell in line behind Riko and beside Jean once the young heir had begun ascending the stairs, having the tall, gold embellished doors pulled open for him, servants and maids lined up on either side of the dark red carpet, leading up another staircase towards the royal wing. Riko walked forward, swift and uncaring of the hundreds of staff that dipped their heads for their King’s return.

 

Nathaniel and Jean followed him carefully, not able to exchange sympathetic looks with the staff, and instead matching stride for stride with each other as they marched behind their King. Jean could only imagine how they looked, but in his head he built up the image of Riko, Naragatsuya’s, young, stone cold King, followed by the his private attendants, rumoured to have a dark, twisted and physical relationship with King. Many people, within and outside the Castle, theorised that Riko’s closeness to his attendants was the reason he was not yet married. Jean knew that they looked every ounce as dangerous as they were- knew Nathaniel’s hands behind his back could fly to his knife sheath quicker than people could blink. He knew that he was faster and stronger than anyone else; in that should any harm come to Riko on their way to the King’s wing, Jean would be able to defend him. Jean and Nathaniel were dependent on each other, working offence and defence respectively.

 

Jean opened the door and entered the private quarters first, Riko behind him and Nathaniel bringing up the rear. It was protocol, Jean assessing the potential dangers in the area, before Riko attended, Nathaniel walking behind to ensure that no one could, quite literally, stab Riko in the back.

 

Once Nathaniel had shut the door on the private-most section of the wing, Riko walked to the small cart of lavish delicacies, taking a tall glass jar and removing the small, crystal-like stopper. Jean moved to stand side by side with Nathaniel, shoulders only just brushing, the movement deliberate but minimal.

 

It was not amiss to Riko, however, as told by the subtle squint in his eyes. “Ah. Jean, I’m beginning to believe you will fuck anything that you coexist within… ten metres of,” he said jovially, like it was some shared, personal joke. “Little Natty is so impressionable these days, does he know you will abandon him?” Riko taunted, pouring amber liquid into a crystalline glass. “And Natty. You are so cute. Do you think that Jean loves you? That he will defend you? You knew Kevin? Hm? Pleasant boy. Shame he’s dead. I saw to that myself,” he added with a mirthful chuckle on the end, dragging a finger through the dust on the edge of the polished wood of the cart. “Yes, well. Kevin was Jean’s little playboy before you. Except, he was mine also. We… shared him. He was a whore for us, huh, Jean? Before you shipped him away to his death. A funny, tragic tale.”

 

Jean felt himself bristle only slightly at the harsh words, but he kept a clean, impassive face as he returned Riko’s gaze. Riko stepped forward towards Jean, smooth and graceful, swirling the alcohol around his glass. Riko was shorter than Jean, levelling the top of Riko’s bouffant with Jean’s chin. In another setting, it would be comical. In this setting, it made no difference to the damage the smaller man could do. Jean kept eye-contact with him regardless, breathing even.

 

“Yes, yes. Jean, the silent, stoic type. Until you stood and watched Kevin make love to me. He was such a good lay. You know though, hm? You don’t think I know but I do.”

 

Riko walked back to the cart as he swigged the last of the amber liquid into his mouth and poured another. He turned back to Jean, looking at him levelly before pegging the full glance at Jean’s forehead.

 

Jean allowed his eyes to close as he felt shards of glass stab into his forehead, the alcohol gushing down his face, stinging the fresh wounds. Nathaniel didn’t stir, looking at Riko the same as he was before. Jean did not even move to wipe his eyes as Riko yelled and laughed maniacally.

 

“See! You bleed, you will die, you feel pain, Jean Moreau,” he screamed, strands of hair falling from the elaborate hairstyle. Riko was suddenly in Jean’s face, grabbing his jaw in one hand. “I know you feel pain because I saw the look in your eyes every time I laid into Kevin, sliding my cock in his hole,” he mumbled, eyes wide with madness. “No, but it wasn’t then, that you felt the pain, it wasn’t then, no,” he said with quiet, dangerous tone of voice, “the pain came when you saw him climax, when you saw him beg for more. When you saw him enjoy how I fucked him, that’s when I saw pain. That’s when I knew that you were hurting,” he grinned, reaching up and pressing his palm into the shards and the cuts still dripping blood on Jean’s forehead, grinding it further into the skin.

 

Jean let out a measured breath, though he felt lightheaded and woozy. Jean kept his eyes on Riko’s face, unmoving and calm.

 

Riko pulled away, looking towards Nathaniel. “Precious Natty. I spoke to your father during my… travels,” he grinned at Nathaniel. “He said that I wasn’t to touch you, he wants you to be only his for the taking,” he said, running his hands down Nathaniel’s chest, then down to cup his ass, kneading the flesh. “But he said I may punish you in any other way if necessary…” he grinned at him, before laying a soft kiss to his cheek. “Leave me now. And Jean,” Riko said tauntingly, grin wide and charming, “do cover that up before someone sees. After all, it’s your word against mine.”

 

Jean held the door open for Nathaniel, refusing the accept any sort of pain or weakness. “As you wish, Sir,” he said simply, closing the door on the bedroom and walking through the Royal Wing, taking Servant’s passages- thankfully mostly empty because of the rush of preparation- back to their quarters. Jean was once again thankful for the fact that because of the superiority of their position, they could take relatively quick routes to and from the Royal Wing to their quarters.

 

So by the time Nathaniel pushed open the door to their quarters, Jean was only falling to a knee, grimacing. “ _Putain_.”

 

Nathaniel bent down, hooking a finger around Jean’s chin. He looked down at him seriously. “You are stronger than this,” he said seriously, the Reven taking the dark edge off the words and helping Jean clear the spots from his vision.

 

Jean nodded, standing like a new born lamb, wobbly and uncertain. He made his way over the edge of the beds, stripping of his top layers, breath coming heavier as he resisted the unconsciousness that beckoned to him. He saw Nathaniel preparing some kind of herb, before walking over to Jean.

 

Jean looked up at Nathaniel, pain written all over his face. Nathaniel paused slightly, before bending to press his lips to Jean’s cheek.

 

Jean was so stunned by the softness in the gesture that for a moment, he didn’t register the pain of thick glass being pulled out of his tender flesh.

 

One by one, Nathaniel pulled the smashed glass out of his forehead, careful and calm and frequently going back to the washbowl. At first, Jean didn’t realise why Nathaniel kept leaving- it wasn’t like Nathaniel was using anything except the fine tip of a knife and his fingers- until he realised that it was probably a subtle manoeuvre to give Jean respite; as whenever Jean’s breathing was particularly laboured, or he was shifting more than usual, that Nathaniel would go to the washbowl. It was perceptive but no less clever and for Jean was entirely thankful.

 

“Thank you,” he said, but the words held great significance as they hung in the air, Nathaniel busying him at the washbowl. ‘Thank you’s were not commonplace between them- most things were done out of courtesy or desire or obligation and therefore were unfitting or undeserved of something like ‘thank you’.

 

Nathaniel turned slightly and looked back at Jean, something not quite right in his eyes. They were harsh, cold, distant. “Was anything he said true?”

 

Jean’s blood ran hot, anger boiling under his impassive face before he realised- Nathaniel was well within his bounds to believe Riko’s words regarding the nature of Jean and Kevin’s relationship. With Jean’s distinguished silence on the matter, and the kiss that meant virtually nothing these many months later, Nathaniel- though perceptive- was not completely clued in on everything.

 

Jean slumped slightly, a darker pounding in his head beginning to form.

 

“Some. What concerns you most?” he asked deliberately, wanting to know what things Nathaniel was fixated on, and to see if he could make himself look better.

 

That was a feeling deeply foreign to Jean- to make himself seem good, seem pure, seem well intentioned- because he’d never needed to before. He’d never wanted to, in fact. Jean had never wanted to seem better than he was to someone. This revelation did not help Jean’s headache.

 

Nathaniel did not seem impressed by the vagueness in Jean’s answer, giving a small eye-roll. “What concerns me most is the fact that Kevin- the elusive Kevin Day, who was apparently yours and Riko’s lover- is dead.”

 

Jean shrugged, blinking hard to clear his dotty vision. “Kevin Day was dead the moment he ran from this Castle,” he explained honestly. He’d accepted Kevin’s fate for himself as soon as Kevin had- literally- kissed him goodbye. Riko always got the last say, always got what he wanted.

 

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak again, but Jean stood and began to walk to the window, opening it a fraction to let in some fresh air, looking darkly at the red head as he moved.

 

Jean stood at the window, opening it more and looking out. Because of the placement of their room, they had the same view as the Royal Wing, if a little lower. They caught all the sunset, setting a yellow and orange haze over the entire bedroom, honey dripping down the unmade linen.

 

Jean stood idle at the window, mulling over the day’s events, trying to keep Kevin and Riko out of his head. Slowly, he felt Nathaniel’s pale arms wrap around Jean’s waist, his curl-clad forehead pressing between Jean’s bare shoulder blades.

 

Jean didn’t move much except for the way the tension in his shoulders bled out slowly. Nathaniel held his own hands over Jean’s scarred stomach. Jean had his own hands resting on the windowsill, as he stood and watched the sun set, the room darkening.

 

Once the room was sufficiently dark, Jean remembered that he couldn’t stay. He twisted in Nathaniel’s arms.

 

“Nathaniel, we need to get prepared for duty.”

 

Nathaniel didn’t move, simply resting his cheek against Jean’s chest, tightening his grip on Jean’s torso.

 

Jean’s chest lowered and rose, Nathaniel’s head moving with the steady pace of it. Jean looked down at Nathaniel. His blue eyes were sheathed, breathing even and soft against the thin hairs dusting Jean’s chest, and it struck Jean that Nathaniel was not that old.

 

Really, he was just a boy trying to be a callous murderer.

 

Jean’s arms came to wrap around Nathaniel’s shoulders, one hand sliding through the red curls, the other big and warm around the vaguely muscled shoulder. Jean pressed his lips to the top of Nathaniel’s head, holding him closer, more protectively.

 

Nathaniel eventually stirred and looked up at Jean, head tilted back, eyes half lidded. “He’s going to show me off in front of everyone like I’m a whore.”

 

Jean, who didn’t see any point in lying to him, nodded. “He will.”

 

Nathaniel nodded again to himself in defeat. “We need to work out how cover up your face.”

 

Jean sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair, walking to a mirror to see the full extent of the damage. The blood has mostly dried, leaving thick mahogany cracks down his face, clots thicker than the skin they held together. Jean walked to the washbowl, taking a ripped piece of cloth and began to rub the blood away, grimacing as the water slipped into his fresh wounds.

 

He focused on listening to Nathaniel change into his formal wear instead of the burning pain in the tender spot of his face. He eventually managed to clean it up, but the scratches and gouges were not exactly subtle.

 

Jean looked around, trying to find something to cover it up with, but came up with nothing. Nathaniel regarded him from across the room.

 

“You’re going to need something to clear that up with. I have a way, but it’s not pleasant.”

 

Jean gave him a withering look. “I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?”

 

 

Jean walekd around the party, following Riko around as the young king made drunken small talk and told wild stories of his travels, the nobles listening, rapt with the tall tales and sexual retellings.

 

Jean’s forehead and eyes stung as the alcohol and sandstone compote covered his skin, mixed enough to blend in with his skin from a distance. Up close, the discrepancy between the gouge and the skin, and the ochre to the skin became very evident. But thankfully, Jean was not a focal point.

 

Unlike Nathaniel. Nathaniel, who was being dragged around with an arm linked into Riko’s dazzling the nobility with his baby blues and his shining smile, but Jean knew that it was not his real smile.

 

It was not the teasing, lifted corners of his lips, or the way he would look after Jean had said something particularly outrageous about a council member, or the kind eyes that had settled on him after Jean had sheepishly explained the joys of strawberry millefeuille.

 

However, Jean could not deny the allure of Riko’s place- one day, or in another life; he wanted to have both Nathaniel’s arms wrapped around one of his own, showing him off somewhere lavish, having many eyes settled on him and his beau but their eyes only trained on each other as women swooned with the strength and depth of their love.

 

By the deeps, Jean could use a drink.

 

_By the deeps_ , Jean sounded like Kevin.

 

He barely restrained the urge to run a hand through his hair and over his face. His head pounded inside and out.

 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go like this.

 

______________________________________________

 

They talked about it for months. Discussed escape routes, tactics, who they would need on their side.

 

They watched aptly through council meetings and official events to see who gave away even slightest inkling of disliking Riko- and it wasn’t that hard. As far as Nathaniel and Jean were concerned, most of the council found Riko just as insufferable as they did, in addition to not being able to act on it, like Nathaniel and Jean.

 

So, they just stood and observed as per their job, watching Riko throw parties and knives, executing disloyal staff and replacing them just as quick.

 

Jean watched as every so often Nathaniel would be taken into Riko’s private room- a personal request from their beloved King- and the only thing that grounded Jean in the aftermath was the way Nathaniel’s clothes were stained with blood and nothing else.

 

Riko’s presence in the Castle settled the dark haze back over it- maids were instructed to leave curtains drawn, to put less oil in the lamps in the servant’s quarters. The walls were back to being damp and cold to the touch, and suffocating the mind. The only place Riko had failed to darken was Jean’s quarters; they hardly ever slept in anymore, but sometimes if they could catch a spare moment in the afternoon, Jean would get to kiss Nathaniel in the warmth of the sun.

 

Riko was, more demanding than before; in the sparse moments where Jean was not standing by Riko’s side, it only took merely minutes before he was summoned. Jean was beginning to lose his mind, the constant beckoning and calling, the guarding and protecting, the small talk and the darkness- it was choking him until he was clawing at its grasp.

 

It didn’t help matters much that Nathaniel had changed, too. Jean could say in confidence that he knew Nathaniel was inherently _good_ , but he could also say that sometimes, he looked at Nathaniel and the little smile that sometimes threatened was completely eradicated. That the calmness and solace he could find in those blue eyes was replaced by something barred and black. It hurt Jean, to watch Nathaniel- for whom he cared so, so deeply- bar up himself, hide behind a mask and not let Jean in.

 

Though, really, had Riko’s presence in the Castle not made Jean himself change?

 

Jean’s bell rang for the second time, pulling him out of his reverie. He stood from the waiting table in the kitchen quarters, walking with his hands behind his back. He felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest at the idea of what might be happening behind that long, lavish door.

 

He knew Nathaniel was in there. He knew that there was one of Riko’s parties that evening. He knew that the whole Castle was in a flurry, and really, it was entering the time where Jean would be attending Riko to dress.

 

Jean was no Seer, but he felt as though this time was different. This time, something had happened.

 

He stewed in his worries until his hand was on the doorknob, knocking with his knuckles to announce his presence. He turned the handle and walked in, his stomach flipping at the sight.

 

Nathaniel was a mess. Blood was everywhere, pooling around his neck, darkening the black wood. Jean could see muscle and flesh exposed from the depth of the wounds. Nathaniel’s eyes were closed; the blue Jean knew hiding behind their sheaths. His face was horrifically bruised, purples and blues covering his face, tear tracks stark against the clotting rivulets of blood. His left elbow was bent back further than Jean knew was normal, from experience.

 

Even still, he did not snap, or break, or expose the extent of his weakness for Nathaniel.

 

“You called, Your Highness?” he said, trying to keep his tone flat. “Do you wish to get dressed for the party this evening?”

 

Riko grinned at him and threw the knife in his hand into the floorboards, the blood dried on his hands. He began to walk towards Jean.

 

“He’s not dead. Might be soon, but he’s not dead.”

 

Jean simply looked at him blankly, not flicking his gaze back down the unconscious boy on the floor.

 

“You think you’re so strong. I’ll break you one day, Moreau.”

 

Jean didn’t care to remember each punch and kick, but by time Riko is tired enough to dismiss him, he is painfully aware remembers the limp way Nathaniel fell in his arms, blood dribbling from his wounds as Jean shifted.

 

He took him to their room, dousing the injuries with alcohol until Nathaniel was sputtering and crying out, fading in and out of consciousness with the pain. Jean found that with enough water, he could get some of the small cuts to fade. He didn’t overthink, assuming his own injuries were making him see things. Looking down at Nathaniel, Jean felt his stomach twinge, not knowing if he was going to live or not.

 

He reached to the dresser for their sewing kit, only to find it missing. He shouted a curse, his own broken body screaming in agony as he threw his fist into the wall in frustration.

 

Jean ran out of the room, looking for the maid’s service room, hoping to find a spare one there. He kept composed, but anyone could see the distress in his stride, despite his emotionless slate for a face.

 

He kept his pace even, crossing almost the entire Castle to reach the maid’s services. He knew the party had commenced- guests and their carriages piling up outside- but Riko did not usually appear in the throng until the party was in full swing.

 

Jean had time. He knew that he could get Nathaniel into a stable condition in time for him to be summoned into the party.

 

He heard more than saw the party- the laughter, music, clinking of glasses, shrieks of something so horrifically inappropriate nearby. Riko was known for his less noble parties to be a swarm of debauchery.

 

He had to cross a room filled with ladies and gentlemen to reach the service department- there was no way around it. He tried to cross as subtly as possible, only having a serve one glass of champagne. As he crossed the room, he watched the entertainment the Council had arranged for the night. A man- mostly naked, tanned skin bare excepting the necessary parts- was suspended mid-air, red and gold silk twirled and spun around his legs and arms as he spun, flipped himself and stretched his legs in a straight line. Jean saw the man’s face briefly; it was painted with some shining, glittering substance that made him look ethereal. Jean knew that logically, the performance was a mix of skill and practise- that magic, apart from Seerance, had been dwindled out after the Great War.

 

But by the Deeps, it sure reminded Jean of the tales he’d been told as a child. 

 

Shaking his head and looking away, Jean finally made it to the services room and grabbed the sewing box without hesitation, beginning his return journey. He felt the ache in his legs with the need to run, but he could do that once he was deep in the servant’s section- it was suicide for any member of staff to break protocol in front of guests. Jean walked briskly through the oil-lit halls until he could start running, breaking into a sprint.

 

His head pounded, his injuries throbbed but nothing would stop Jean if Nathaniel was at stake. He kept running until he was slamming the door to the room open, uncaring of onlookers.

 

There sat Renée. On his bed, in long white robes, her warm eyes settling on him. He looked around the room. There was no Nathaniel. Jean felt his heart miss a beat as he surveyed the room.

 

He pulled a knife from his leg, looking Renée. “I don’t know who you’re working for, but give him back. Just because we were friends once, does not mean I will hesitate.”

 

“I know, Jean. He’s safe. I swear to you. We don’t know if he’ll live much longer-“

 

“Who is ‘we’?” he demanded, not lowering his knife, though his faith in Renée increasing, his sense of betrayal diminishing substantially.  

 

“I met a group of bandits in Palmetta. They perform heists in large scale parties, such as this. They pose as elaborate entertainers and thieve money and goods from the rich for the poor. I came here to see if I could find you, save you, and found the boy instead. I had my,” she paused, and Jean saw the corner of her mouth twitch slightly as she said, “friend take him to our carriage, to our healer. I believe we are doing all we can. Please, Jean. Trust me.”

 

Jean listened carefully, watching her face and looking out to see if he could sense any untruths. “I won’t let you take him.”

 

“I know. That’s why you’re coming with us.”

 

Jean felt a blunt pain in the back of the head, and that’s all it took for him to go unconscious.

 

_____________________________________

 

When Jean woke, he was in the back of a carriage. He could feel bodies next to him, and he flinched, trying to scamper away. Hands pushed down his shoulders as Jean heard people speak in Palmettan. His understanding of the language was adequate, if a little rusty. Not many guests didn’t speak Naran, and even when they didn’t speak the national language, they often spoke Reven. So really, Jean had very little reason to use the Eastern language regularly.

 

So when a woman with long, dirty blonde hair spoke sharply and quickly, Jean’s aching head could not comprehend the words. Instead, he let his head fall back again, eyes closing.

 

When Jean woke for the second time, he was in a bed. Immediately, he thought he had been taken into the staff medical wing, treated for his injuries. The whole thing had been a hallucination.

 

It was a nice thought, until he realised the dark wooden ceiling above him was nothing akin to the medical wing’s, or even his room.

 

Then he realised, perhaps, that maybe the pseudo-kidnapping by Renée’s band of thieves had been a reality. Jean reached a hand up to his forehead, feeling for the fever he inevitably had.

 

He didn’t.

 

He tried pulling the crisp, white sheets back, to survey his injuries, but in the place where a gaping wound should be, there was a silvery scar, blending in with the rest of them.

 

“What the fuck,” he muttered to himself, looking down at himself, bare except for his linen shorts.

 

Renée chose that moment to open the door, and Jean surveyed the room as she walked into it.

 

“Hello Jean,” she said calmly, still in those long, clean, white robes as she wandered gracefully to his bedside. The window was much, much bigger than the one in his room at the Castle in this room, and it made Renée look godly.

 

“Is he alive?” was his first question, and really, the first thing that came to mind as she walked in the room.

 

“Yes, Jean. He’s in the next room. He’s been in your room every moment he’s been awake, you know,” she explained, with a knowing smile. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Jean with gentle curiousity.

 

Jean rubbed his eyes, looking around at the small, relatively barren room, before returning his gaze to Renée.

 

“I am…” he began, feeling his heartrate pick up as everything that had happened began to settle in. “Very confused.”

 

She reached out and laid a hand over his own, and he felt a wave of calm hit him. Knowing it was too strong of a feeling to be his own, he looked at her in question.

 

“Being with Foxes and the Trojans has taught me that I am… more powerful than I initially thought. I can see your emotions, and transfer certain emotions back to you. I can… not do it to you, if you would prefer.”

 

Jean shook his head, not really caring if she did it to him. “I thought magic was dead.”

 

“There is a little magic left in everyone, Jean. Some more than others,” she said. Jean knew neither of them was really answering the questions they were asking.

 

“You know what they do to magical beings? Do you know why we had the Great War? Why Nathaniel was running all those years? Because they hunt down magical beings. They kill them. So you’re sitting here and telling me that magic is alive?”

 

Renée smiled at him, almost pitying. “I think you have much to learn, Jean. Do you need to rest more?” she asked, and Jean shook his head without hesitation. The last thing he needed right now was more sleep. Not when Nathaniel was alive. Not when his friend was actually magical. If anything, Jean needed to run, exert energy. “Then get up. Come see Nathaniel, and then meet the family.”

 

Jean stood at the invitation, a little weak on his legs. He dressed weakly, tugging on the set out trousers and linen shirt. He flinched away when Renée offered an arm to lean on; instead, he stubbornly stumbled out of the room, out into the hallway. It was so… bright. So open doors, open windows. Jean didn’t know what country he was even in, but surely it wasn’t Naragatsuya. The country was simply too dark to supply this amount of light. Renée opened another door for him, and Jean, getting more comfortable on his legs with each step, walked through with a little more dignity than with which he’d left the other room.

 

And there was Nathaniel. Scarred, hurt, dangerous Nathaniel, standing on his own two feet, looking more than worse for wear, but Jean couldn’t bring himself to see anything other than the way his eyes were open. Open and alive.

 

Jean gave a little sigh, doing a careful survey of the boy, noticing how Nathaniel seemed to be doing the same.

 

“That is _so_ not what I expected, honestly.”

 

Jean almost choked at the sound of the voice, high but oddly masculine. Jean turned, carefully, looking every inch the cold, disciplined victim he was. The man who had spoken was a normal height, dark skinned man, speaking in Palmettan slowly enough that even Jean could understand.

 

The one thing about the man that Jean _despised_ was the mile wide grin plastered onto his cheeks. It made Jean want to shiver, because it reminded him of Riko.

 

Renée spoke softly, but firmly, as she said, “Nicky, please be kind. Introduce yourselves, please. And in Reven, if you can.”

 

And then, only then, did Jean analyse the room. His head began to hurt with how much information he suddenly noticed. If he’d been at the Castle, he already would have surveyed each face and ranked them from most dangerous to least, but for some reason, he hadn’t. For some reason, his movements felt sluggish. Even when Nathaniel’s hand slid into Jean’s, he felt the warmth of Nathaniel’s hand moments after it had already been there. Everything was diluted and slow.

 

He ended up missing half of their names as Renée ended up introducing them, but he took note of a few of their faces.

 

Two identical blond men sat in opposite corners of the room, not looking at him or Nathaniel. Jean was grateful. Nicky- the grinning one, Jean remembered- had waved at them. There was two women who sat and sized them up, obviously trying to look more threatening than Jean knew they were. Jean recognised one of them to be the blonde one from the carriage. The other looked significantly more interesting, with dark skin, thick hair and an impressive muscular stature. The man who sat next to her- too close to be her friend, Jean deduced- looked similar, in that he was dark, tall, and impressively muscled. By the time Renée had finished introducing them, she turned back to Jean and Nathaniel.

 

“These are the Foxes. The Trojans are in another room, but they’re out at the moment,” she explained calmly. “Feel free to acquaint yourself with your surroundings, and the Foxes,” she said, gesturing at the raggedy bunch of men and women who sat in the large drawing room type area, all of them pretending to not notice their newcomers. “Let me know if you need anything.”

 

And with that, Jean was being led out of a room, Nathaniel charging back into the room Jean had started in.

 

Jean heard more than saw the door shut, and then there were lips on his. Too tired to respond in much more than kind, he kissed Nathaniel back for as long as he could without needing air, and then rested their foreheads together.

 

“You have questions,” Nathaniel said, not a question. Jean nodded.

 

“Where are we?” he asked, hands comfortable on Nathaniel’s neck.

 

“Palmettan countryside somewhere. A safe house of sorts.”

 

Jean decided that if Nathaniel had any more information, he would divulge it. “How dangerous are the Foxes?”

 

“Some more than others, but no danger is directed towards us. Renée assured me as much. She sounds like she was good to you.”

 

Jean nodded. “How long was I out?”

 

“Four days since I’ve been awake, seven in total.”

 

“ _Putain_.”

 

“I was fine. The Foxes are… they have magic. I don’t know how they are alive, but that’s why they live here. All of them live out here in hiding, only leaving for wide scale performances that are actually heists. They give the money to the poor. That’s how they healed me. One of them had that... power. Also, Kevin Day is with them.”

 

Jean physically flinched away, looking at Nathaniel like a wounded animal. “ _What_?” he snarled.

 

“Kevin is here. He’s magical too. Pyrotechnic or something. Fire.”

 

Jean stared at him until the spinning in his head slowed. Nathaniel had his hands on Jean’s cheeks, staring at him seriously. Jean looked at him until he could breathe evenly, and his heart had settled.

 

“I thought you were dead,” Jean said eventually, feeling his throat clog up as he said the words, looking at Nathaniel through half lidded eyes as he felt the wetness seep into them.

 

Jean couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried- maybe when he was eleven years old, a page at the Castle, learning to attend Riko, and the maître d’ had whipped him for stealing from the garden for Renée.

 

But here he was, clinging to Nathaniel’s shoulders, tears leaking involuntarily out of his eyes as he reacquainted himself with the boy he loved.

 

Nathaniel muttered an affectionately bitter, “Likewise, asshole.”

 

Jean huffed a tired laugh into his shoulder, and stood for just a moment. “How is it here? How are the Trojans?” he asked, voice calm, if a little muffled through the fabric of Nathaniel’s shirt.

 

Nathaniel’s hand found its way into Jean’s hair- notably thicker and softer than before, the patches Riko had ripped out healed over; Jean figured it was part of the Foxes’ healer’s repertoire- and was tender in its touch over Jean’s scalp.

 

“They’re harmless, purely because of the mess they’re in. Disorganised, messy, loud. It’s a surprise they ever get anything done. This place is odd. Very bright, lots of windows. It’s… nice though, because it’s warmer than the Castle.”

 

Jean knew that Nathaniel was just listing off the facts, trying to calm them both down. “They call themselves a family.”

 

Jean huffed slightly. “But they aren’t-“

 

“-related, I know. It must be a magical thing, some kind of label for their group,” Nathaniel theorised, and Jean felt the warm breath fan over the back of his ear as the smaller boy held him closer.

 

Jean sighed quietly into him, feeling his eyes grow heavy, with newly found calmness, but decided that sleep would not be beneficial.

 

“I’m going to look around,” he said quietly, after a moment. His tone was not inviting, but Jean couldn’t say he was surprised to have Nathaniel following him around, pointing things out with his own personal commentary.

 

As Jean saw more of the house, he noticed that the whole building was painted either cream or light orange. It made the already sufficiently lit room look brighter. Jean kept having to blink harshly, trying to get his eyes to adjust. There was the foyer, leading to a living room area, with a large kitchen attached. Then from the living room, there was the hallway that Jean had been in before, with the drawing room that the Foxes sat in, and the other room that Renée had said was for the Trojans.

 

“They really sit together, though. Usually they all sit out here, when they aren’t doing things.”

 

Jean looked at Nathaniel with a wry expression. “And what kind of things do they do?” Nathaniel huffed a soft kind of laugh. Jean wanted to kiss it off his lips in adoration, but decided that was for another time. A more private time.

 

“The Foxes handle the protection of the house, and the…family. They’re definitely more of a threat than the Trojans, in that regard. The twins are perhaps the most dangerous. The two blond ones. They… have their own system. Have most of the Foxes under their thumbs. But they hate each, which makes it more interesting.”

 

Jean nodded. “And the Trojans?”

 

“They mostly go outside and practise their performances. There’s a shed outside with all their equipment. I snuck in and saw them practising once,” Nathaniel said, with a tone of voice that Jean had not heard before from him. It was endearing, and nice for half a second, before Jean wondered if perhaps Nathaniel had made alliances, formed trust in other people.

 

Was it normal for him to feel threatened by people he’d barely met?

 

“What’s up the stairs?” he asked him, gesturing carefully to the stairs.

 

Nathaniel shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t been up there yet, but from what I’ve seen, the Foxes and Trojan’s medics lives up there. And two other people. Wymack and Rhemman- they sort of lead everyone. They’re older, and handle all the performances and heists. Then there’s Abby and Lesa. They’re medics as well, the ones that healed us. And there’s another lady, Bee. She’s some sort of tea lady. She comes around and talks to people and gives them tea,” he said, passive relatively impassive as he gave the rundown.

 

Jean finished his assessment of his immediate surroundings and nodded before turning back to Nathaniel. “Have you been outside yet?”

 

Jean swore that if he had yet seen Nathaniel look sheepish or embarrassed, it was that moment- the redhead turned slightly and scrunched up his nose briefly, looking away.

 

“I was waiting for you to wake up before I went out,” he mumbled, eventually looking him in the eye.

 

Jean had the decency not to comment and instead just nod and gesture to the door expectantly. For a moment he stood, staring at the door- the frame itself letting in light around the edges. It made it seem as if the wood glowed, as if it were not a door to an overgrown field, but instead a door directly into the Heavens, glorious beams unchanging and golden.

 

Jean carefully slipped his hand into Nathaniel’s, not exactly gentle, but tender enough in intention that Nathaniel paused- only for a breath, and then they were walking towards the door, hand in hand.

 

The outdoors was just as beautiful as Jean had often seen or heard it to be- and brighter than he could have ever imagined.

 

He found himself squinting at everything. The sky, all blue and translucent above them, mingling with fir trees on the horizon, a green-dark edging stark against it. Jean turned in a full circle before turning back to Nathaniel, unable to suppress his wonder at his surroundings. He looked down, seeing the little wildflowers between his toes- his _bare_ toes, which was a wonder in itself- the blades of grass not soft and frankly, itchy, but it was so foreign that Jean couldn’t bring himself to move or do anything about it.

 

Jean felt the tension curl between the shoulder blades at everything, all at once, right in his face until it snapped like a rubber band. He shook his head and felt the grass slip between his toes before the wooden planks of the porch, hearing Nathaniel shut the door behind him. Jean brushed past several Foxes, before feeling two large hands clamp on his shoulders. If the tension was not already tight within him, his breath coming in harsh pants, it was paramount now.

 

And that was before he looked up and straight into the green eyes of Kevin Day.

 

Jean, flustered and panicked and _scared_ -

 

He socked him in the mouth. Fist to jaw, hard and accompanied by a sickening crack that Jean, in his red-hot haze of anger and panic, could not distinguish if it was his own. There was buzzing in his ears, turning everything into horrendous white noise that drowned out anything that threatened him.

 

Within seconds, Jean had a Minyard on him- he couldn’t tell which, not with those little devils- attacking him with fist that lacked technique and finesse. Jean kicked down over his bent knee, sending him tumbling, and then there was a long knife against his throat. Jean retaliated with a knife from his hip at his aggressor’s stomach before he even looked to see who it was

 

Amber eyes of the other Minyard- this one was Andrew no doubt, with his knives and pathetic sense of family loyalty- were bright with rage, but flat across the surface.

 

Jean knew, because between himself, Nathaniel, Kevin and Riko, he’d encountered that look plenty.

 

He knew Andrew didn’t speak Reven and Jean couldn’t be bothered figuring out Palmettan, so they stood at a stalemate, knives at each other.

 

Allison said something in Palmettan that made Andrew lean back slightly, but the metal remained cool against Jean’s stubbly throat.

 

Then Renée, bless her peaceful heart, said something in Palmettan, only to translate it later. “Are you not men? You fight the same cause, act like it,” she said firmly, calm but unshifting. It was grounding. Yet, Jean did not yield. Neither did Andrew. Jean figured they had been raised in the circumstances where to yield meant to die unjustly.

 

“Yield,” said a darker, rougher, deeper voice and Jean, not knowing the voice, did not obey, but Andrew pulled his knife and slinked off into a room attached to the hallway. “Rhemman, this one’s yours,” the voice said again and Jean, defensive but no longer needing violence, turned to look at whoever, assuming it was the elusive Wymack, who apparently spoke Reven, if with a thick accent.

 

He had fair skin and a stocky build- as though he’d been very strong in his youth and now, whilst strong, ate well. He was scruffy and tattered but managed to look controlled and in-charge regardless. From around the corner of the hallway, a tall, lean, dark man walked around the corner.

 

He had a pleasant smile and a gentle hand when it landed on Jean’s shoulder, which was tightly bound with anxiety. Nathaniel was next to him, he only just realised, and probably had been since Minyard disappeared.

 

“I’m James, James Rhemman. It’s nice to meet you, Jean,” he said, and Jean didn’t quite know what to do with this older, stronger man who was being- kind. It gave him a bad vibe- he’d seen men like this before, treat him with kindness and then try to take advantage of him later. Jean shivered at the memory and shrugged off Rhemman’s hand. The man didn’t seem fazed, like he’d seen Jean’s type a million times before. “Come meet the Trojans.”

 

__________________________________

 

By the end of the week, Jean had met the Trojans in their entirety almost managed to get used to the outside, and gotten into so many fights with the twins that Wymack had banned him from the Foxes’ quarters.

 

However, the more time that elapsed, it looked like Nathaniel had befriended Minyard. Andrew, the one that had pressed a knife against Jean’s throat. Jean couldn’t be bothered letting it bother him, only that with every passing day they seemed to be gaining freedom and in that freedom, growing apart. Nathaniel still stood by his side when they ate, sticking close and mumbling in Reven quietly, but Jean would see him learning knife tricks from Minyard, how to hide them in his sleeves.

 

The thought of losing Nathaniel to Andrew, of having Nathaniel crave their intimacy with anyone but Jean made bile creep up his throat and constrict every muscle he had in his body.

 

He was alone in the Trojan’s shed, looking at the equipment. It was all bigger than Jean had ever seen in his life, more space, enough that it was a little daunting, but Jean liked the way there was glass in some parts of the shed’s roof, letting in the bright light without it being overpowering.

 

It lit the silks that Jeremy Knox was winding himself around on, wearing only his dark pants, torso glistening with sweat and exertion.

 

Jean pretended not to be watching raptly, but as he tried to complete the exercise routine that Rhemman had taught him to recover his muscles from his injuries, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of him.

 

“I can get him to teach you if you’d like,” said a voice behind him in thickly accented Reven. Jean turned to the soft voice and met eyes with Laila- someone he’d had maybe three conversation with, mostly polite formalities or asking for something at meal times.

 

Jean’s face was flat and impassive as he regarded her. “I don’t think it is in my best interest to be suspended in midair with little protection,” he said, like a liar.

 

Laila laughed after she ran the foreign words through her head. “I think you are very interested, and- you know what,” she said, grinning at him. “Jeremy!” she called, before yelling a long stream of Palmettan to the tanned boy.

 

Jeremy tumbled down in a cascade of ropes and silk, the pale blue material slipping between his limbs until he was safe on the ground again. He grinned at Jean, before wiping his hands on the thin material covering his legs.

 

“Yes?” he said, and Laila spoke to him in Palmettan, and he cut glances to Jean- surprise, no doubt- every so often. Jean just glared daggers into both of their heads.

 

“Jean, do you speak Espan?” Jeremy asked, the foreign language rolling off his tongue. Jean looked at Jeremy in surprise, not knowing the man was from the Isle of Espinosa, but not exactly surprised. Jeremy was lean and tanned, light brown hair and brown eyes. It made sense to Jean.

 

“Better than Palmettan, yes,” Jean responded in kind, the language old and rusty as it stuck to the roof of his mouth, but not as unknown as Palmettan.

 

“Excellent. You possess great strength, so once you understand the technique, I think you will catch on quite easily,” he said, and Jean shrugged slightly. He’d found Jeremy so far to be quite agreeable, polite but not overbearing and accommodating with Jean and Nathaniel’s cluelessness in every social situation. More than once, Jean had seen Jeremy wince at a particularly rude thing Nathaniel had said, with an understanding expression.

 

Lest to say, Jeremy was not easily offended.

 

Laila patted Jeremy’s shoulder and didn’t bother with Jean’s- a gesture deeply appreciated- but just smiling and saying something that made Jeremy roll his eyes.

 

Jean kept his attention on Jeremy as he showed Jean how to hold the silks to climb, to swing. Jeremy was not gentle, or tender, or sympathetic with Jean, not acting as if Jean was a broken victim, but instead helping Jean prove his strength in each movement the Reven man learned.

 

Jean felt- he was light in the chest when Jeremy suggested that they stop, simply because the skylights were now redundant in the night-time. It was a different, good feeling. He was sore in places he’d never even touched before but it felt- Jean felt _good_.

 

He wanted to tell Nathaniel of things he’d learnt. When he and Jeremy returned to the house, sweat-slick and smelling strongly of physical exertion, the looks they received, Trojan and Fox, were generally surprised. Jeremy just gave his sunny smile to the people, going to the water jug to drink some water.

 

Jean walked through the house, brushing shoulders with Aaron accidentally on his way to his and Nathaniel’s room. Within a few days after waking, Rhemman and Wymack had given them a room to themselves and shuffled the other men and women as a result. Nobody minded that much. Pushing open the door, Jean opened his mouth to talk, but instead was met with the eye burning sight of Kevin well under Andrew, mouths connecting as if they were trying to swallow each other whole. Jean felt blood rush to his cheeks, his own expression matching Kevin’s, blushing and flustered.

 

Jean stepped back and shut the door forcefully without ever managing to see Andrew’s reaction, instead only seeing Kevin’s face. But instead of getting angry, or embarrassed, Jean leaned against the wall and felt a laugh bubble out of his chest.

 

He’d been so worried about Nathaniel replacing him with Andrew, but really, Andrew had his own lover. It was so comical, that in a safe house somewhere on the border of Palmetta and Revedeux, surrounded by people he half knew and couldn’t really communicate with, Jean _laughed_.

 

He eventually found the right door, his face covered in the evidence of him smiling. When he did open the door, it was to Nathaniel sitting by the large window, in nothing but linen underwear. He turned his frame to look at Jean, and giving him an odd expression.

 

“Why are you smiling?” he asked, tilting his head and patting the bed for Jean to sit. “Take off your dirty clothes. You’re disgusting.”

 

Jean stripped of his clothes and looked at Nathaniel. “I walked in on Kevin and Andrew,” he said, smiling creeping back onto his face. He really found the whole situation hilarious.

 

“Walked in on them… Fucking?” he asked, smile slowly stretching his face also.

 

“Not quite. Though well on their way to that, I believe,” he said, smile so genuine and amused . Nathaniel looked stunned, before he was a laughing too. Jean, stripped and bare, sat next to Nathaniel, their hands finding each other in the sheets.

 

Jean had found that no matter where they were, if they were close, they were touching. Hands, feet, shoulders, lips- always connected, inseparable. Jean found deep comfort in knowing he could feel Nathaniel.

 

“Oh, by the Deeps, I can just see Kevin’s face, all embarrassed and flustered,” he said, words interrupted with laughter that threatened. They weren’t hysterical, or even really laughing, but it was so light and amused that Jean leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Nathaniel’s lips, who neck tilted slightly so he could hold their lips together for a little longer.

 

Eventually, they ended up horizontal on the bed, legs intertwined and beneath the sheets as Jean pressed lazy kisses over Nathaniel’s hairline.

 

“Andrew’s been teaching me how to thieve,” he said softly, head resting on Jean’s chest, letting himself be tucked up in his hold.

 

“I would imagine you’re catching on quite efficiently,” he said, amusement making his tone light. Nathaniel shifted slightly and pressed a soft kiss to Jean’s chest. Jean traced a scar just above Nathaniel’s left buttock.

 

It was safe, and gentle. Jean listening as Nathaniel recounted each thing Andrew had taught him, the way he could now pick a necklace off of a lady’s neck without her noticing. Nathaniel seemed happy and calm, in ways Jean had not seen similarly, not even when Riko disappeared. The thought of the Castle made a jolt of anxiety go through Jean’s head, wondering what kind of chaos they had left behind in their absence.

 

The thought dissipated, though, when Nathaniel said gently, “Apparently in Palmettan you say name ‘Neil’.”

 

Jean’s hand stuttered over its pattern, before continuing smoothly. “That’s interesting. Neil,” he said, testing it out, the shape of the name in his mouth.

 

“I asked Andrew to call me that instead of Nathaniel. I want you to, as well,” he said, sounding as shy as he got, in Jean’s mind.

 

Jean looked at him carefully. “You want me to call you Neil?” he asked, just checking. The mop of curls bounced as Nathaniel- or, rather, Neil- nodded against the curled hairs dusting Jean’s chest. “Alright,” he said easily. “I think I like it,” he said softly, running his fingers through the reddish hair, pressing a kiss into the curly abyss.

 

Neil smiled- Jean felt it, against his skin- and Jean began to speak. “Jeremy has been teaching me how to climb the silks,” he said quietly.

 

Neil looked up at that, and suddenly Jean was being assaulted by azure irises, wide with surprise. “Is that why you were so disgusting when you walked in?”

 

Jean swatted his skin softly, eyes going flat and glarish but the amusement was thick underneath. Neil smiled and Jean felt a soft huff- of perhaps real laughter.

 

“Yes, that was why I was so disgusting,” he conceded. “But now you’re lying on me, so you’re disgusting too,” he said, and if his hand slipped under the tie of Neil’s undergarment, then only they had to know.

 

Neil’s eyes fluttered and he began to knead to flesh with his hand, pressing reminding kisses along the column of his neck. Neil shifted so he was lying flat on top of him, holding onto Jean’s shoulders.

 

They stayed like that until there was a soft knock on the door, calling them for dinner. Neil pressed a soft kiss to Jean’s lips, reluctant in how he moved, got dressed and held onto the knob on the door.

 

Jean knew that once the door was open, they could not be soft. They had an image, a reputation, and if they broke that they had nothing. They would have no protection, nothing between Jean-cuddles-Neil-in-the-dark-Moreau and Jean-will-physically-maim-you-Moreau.

 

The thought made Jean so overwhelmingly tired.

 

They walked out, postures naturally tall and proud, walking into the chaos of two teams trying to start a revolution. They sat in their usual chairs, wooden ones dragged in from the drawing room, and waited for Wymack to let them run free into the kitchen.

 

Jeremy grinned at Jean, as if they shared some secret, some camaraderie. And Jean, who’d gathered genuine likeness towards the tanned man, gave a nod, with the barest hint of a smile. Jeremy looked like he’d ended the poverty throughout the entire continent, eyes alight with achievement.

 

The Trojans and the Foxes made an effort to speak in a language that everyone could understand- which resulted in being Naran. Jean sat with his food, directly next to Neil, and observed the way Kevin and Andrew bickered, how Kevin would add some boiled vegetable to Andrew’s plate and Andrew would studiously avoid it on his plate.

 

The table was loud and chaotic but only from small interactions such as that one, and Jean wondered if this is what people did, how they acted when they weren’t involved in royal scandals.

 

Jean had learnt that meal times were not his best time, and people seemed to understand that. His silence and stoniness was of no consequence to anyone else at the table; they simply moved around him, bustling and chatting.

 

Neil was much the same beside him, only ever exchanging words with Andrew. Jean eventually left the table, walking into the kitchen, to help Renee with the washing up, telling Neil ever so quietly that he’d meet him in their room later.

 

Renee was easy, smiling and humming softly as she handed dishes to Jean, who took them and tried to remember where to put them. They worked in companionable silence, only Renee’s soft melody filling the air between them.

 

Jean eventually put his hands in the hot water, feeling the searing heat and the smoothness of the water soothe the aches all over his body.

 

Renee watched, her eyes intrigued but not surprised. “I had a vision.”

 

Jean turned abruptly, lips pressed together tightly. “Of what?”

 

“You,” she replied easily. “I think you hold much more power in your system than you let on.”

 

Jean ground his teeth together and took a step closer to her in the already tightly packed kitchen. “Are you implying I’m like one of- of _them_?” he spat, disgusted.

 

“From your reaction, I think you already knew. I think, you know, that when you are excited, or when you focus, things do as you please. Water, fire, air- you have it in you. You’ve just never had the room to express it,” she said, voice ever-quiet, ever-understanding and painfully accurate. “Jean, do you trust me?” she asked, pulling a knife from her garter. He nodded because she knew the answer before she asked the question. She sliced the knife down her forearm, a stream of blood flowing from the cut. “Now put your hands back in that water, and hold it over my arm,” she instructed, voice calm and void of fear. Jean had always admired her, and this only reinforced it.

 

He did as instructed and laid his wet hands over her arm, focusing on her arm, flesh and skin that needed to be mended. Blood stained his hands and her arm, but after he opened his eyes- which he distinctly did not remember closing- the wound was closed. A faint, dimming scar remained but that was the only tell of anything that had happened.

 

Jean stared at her in horror, mixed with awe. His times with the Trojan-Foxes was going to be a lot more interesting from here on out.

 

___________________________________________

 

Jean, Nathaniel- no, _Neil_ \- and just about everyone else within a close vicinity, fell into lull. Three months of hiding out in the lush fields of where Palmetta met Revedeux, enough time for Jean to become a proficient performer, a friend to Jeremy, Laila and sometimes, in the right kind of intoxication with enough self-pity, he and Kevin could look at each other without violence and instead, a quiet understanding.

 

Andrew and Kevin’s relationship was a lot less secret after the day Jean had accidentally told Jeremy what he had seen. Of course, Kevin being Kevin and Andrew being Andrew, they were unaffected and simply continued to act as they had before.

 

However, maybe before everyone knew, they would not have let their gazes linger, or sat as close as they now did. Jean noticed the little changes and for the first time, was a little content for Kevin- he did not run from fear anymore, and he had Andrew to thank for that. While the specifics of their relationship were quietly covered and hidden away, to the Trojan-Foxes it was clear where they stood.

 

 

Jean had made _friends_ , he dared to call them. He was tall, quiet and impassive, but sometimes they could coerce a smile, a little huff of something akin to laughter from him. They never asked, or expected him to speak about the Castle, but the one time that he had, Jeremy had been accommodating and understanding.

 

 

They had been on the silks, Jeremy’s legs wrapped up in gold, hanging from his tightly wound up ankles. He’d counted the beats before spreading his legs and throwing his body into a middle split of his legs, before closing them, seeming to stand up in the material, suspended with balance and poise and practise.

 

Jean had his back bent, red silks tightly bound around his ankles and feet which were by his ears. His arms held his body up, grip tight on the red material below his body. His head was forward, looking at Jeremy.

 

 

If he was honest, the silks had reminded him a bit of the dark red accents in the Castle, and when Jeremy had mentioned the colour to him, if he liked it or not, “because everytime we’re here you seem to stare at it. If you like it, you have have some of the material-”

 

 

“No, no,” he cut in, dragging his gaze from the silk as they twisted and fell to the ground, “It’s… It’s similar to the curtains in the Castle. It’s a similar colour,” he said, voice thin and quiet.

 

 

Jeremy nodded simply, rubbing his hands in the powder that helped him stay up. Jean had never needed it- he could hold himself, and he swore blind that it was strength and not anything else.

 

 

They had talked about the Castle briefly, Jean explaining the architecture, the grandiose nature of the buildings, the fine details and artworks. Jeremy had laughed in surprise when Jean dryly noted, “it’s big, because the Moriyama family like to assert themselves amongst the rich, as though being the dynasty in control of the fucking continent did not already convey their wealth.”

 

 

And Jean had laughed a little too- and suddenly there was something related to the Castle that did not make him shake- there was lightness in the darkness of that memory and Jean just laughed softly with Jeremy watching, his sunshine smile beaming onto him from where they stood.

 

 

Jean had become comfortable with the silks, creating and learning new positions and tricks. Next on his list was letting the silks hold him around the middle as he spun to the ground.

 

 

Jeremy had shown him how to do it, but he didn’t… he lacked the faith in the silk to trust he wouldn’t plummet to the ground.

 

 

Unlike, with Renee at night, where he discovered new and powerful things about himself, the rich magical history of Revedeux and the types of powers one could attain. There, he did not feel fear anymore, but instead the power like ichor in his veins.

 

 

“Seers are the most common and the most acceptable form of magical beings. Such as myself,” she explained. “Seers have visions, that can predict or prophesise the future. Sometimes the things we see are completely irrelevant to ours, or anyone we know’s fate. But there is always something to learn.”

 

Jean nodded, looking at her. He’d only ever seen a handful of Seers up close, Renee being one of them. They had pale grey hair and faint, violet eyes- attributes that became more prominent with time. He’d always found them especially beautiful, where society had told them that they were scum, ugly.

 

 

“Then there are the Sirens. Primarily female, and dangerous. They’re water bound and can hypnotise, lure and enchant, usually men. Allison is half Siren- she doesn’t need much contact with water, but still can lure men and women into doing things for her.”

 

 

Jean found that easy to believe- from the moment he’d seen Allison, he’d known she was underlyingly dangerous. He wondered of the little glint in Renee’s eye as she spoke of the other woman, wondered what that meant. He tucked it away for later contemplation.

 

 

“Then there are the Vila. Wind creatures. That’s Jeremy, Laila and Nicky. Very graceful, friendly people. They can’t fly, not like they used to in ancient times, but the things that Laila does on the trapeze and Jeremy with the silks, it helps them a lot, obviously,” she said, smiling at him. Jean picked at a miniscule ball of dust and string that had collected on top of the chair they were sitting on as he listened, legs tucked up beneath him.

 

 

“Then there are the Nix, who are water creatures that can bend and move any form of water. That’s Aaron; Andrew is the counterpart, a Salamander, a fire bender. Neither of them speak of or use their powers, so be mindful of that. I’ve only ever seen them use it once, together, on a thieving that went wrong, and Nicky was taken. They burnt the place down,” she said.

 

 

“Then, the Lares, who are extremely rare. That’s Wymack and Rhemman. They descend from a fallen, sunken city, called Rom. Their kind were guardians of the city- they live forever, they’re immortal. Many of them dedicated their spirits to the sea after Rom sunk, but some escaped onto the Empire continent. Rhemman and Wymack are descendants of that generation, some of the only full blooded Lares you'll find left," Renee explained, voice soft, her eyes kind on Jean, whose expression was well-masked to the untrained eye, however he was sure Renee could see the burning question. 

 

 

 

"So, what am I, then?" he asked, words poised and calm, but to Jean they seemed to tumble out of his mouth before he could stop it. He didn't seem to fit in with any of these categories, none of them seemed... right. Like a glove unfitting or a button drawing too tight.  

 

 

Renee hesitated. "The things is, Jean, I don't know. Unlike Neil, whose past is known to everyone- Butcher's son, Moriyama secret, ran away, Moriyamas now wanting him dead, et cetera. I know you wore born in Revedeux, but I don't know what your ethnicity is.  You could be from the Isle of Espinosa, or from Garovsky. These foreign countries are beyond the Empire but at the time of all our births, all countries were coming to restore the land after the War. And then, there are more types that I haven't encountered before, and some that are presumed extinct, but we can never really know.”

 

 

Jean nodded, a pale, scarred running through his hair slowly. “That’s… I’m going to find Neil.”

 

 

 

 

“So, you are magical?” Neil looked at him, spinning a knife between each of his fingers, before tucking it back into his sleeve, sliding it out, and repeating. Jean wondered how he did it. Maybe he would ask Andrew, an olive branch of sorts, because he was Neil’s friend.

 

Jean nodded, his face brushing against Neil’s shirt, the material a little rough against his face. Neil’s hand ran through his messy hair, softer than usual because of the food Abby and Renee had been cooking- there was so much, and it was so good. Jean had, sometimes, mourned the loss of his strawberry millefeuille, until Renee had asked how to make it. He wasn’t sure how she knew, and he assumed it was some weird Seer thing, but he told her unquestioningly. She had only made it the one time, preserving its preciousness, but Jean couldn’t even miss it anymore when he could have it whenever.

 

 

“What kind of magical? My mother used to be able to move fire. Keep us warm some nights,” he muttered, and Jean looked up.

 

 

“How did I not know this? When did you fail to mention that you were magical?” Jean asked, a little hysterical.

 

 

“The only magic left in my body is that I heal fast. My father managed to take mine- I was a Healer,” he asked, voice gathering that distance, that _age_ , that Jean identified as Neil-talking-about-bothersome-things. But not bothersome comparable to the Minyards, no, this was bothersome comparable to the way Neil looked at meat-cleavers with such trepidation. Or, when he talked about his past.

 

 

Jean listened as Neil recounted each time his Mother had used her power around him. About how she would make patterns in the ground, and the way she set herself on fire inside a broken, abandoned carriage.

 

 

They spoke, about their magic, how Jean couldn’t really identify what he could do, or when he could do it but he knew he felt it, and Neil nodded, their hands soft on the other’s skin.

 

 

It felt soft, and healing. Maybe Jean could forget Riko, the Castle, the dead look in both their eyes as grandfather clocks chimed endlessly in an endless stream of hallways and torture, the longer he laid in his arms.

 

 

Suddenly Nicky was pushing open the door, busting through with that cheeky grin that Jean had become accustomed too, even fond of in the time he’d been with the Trojan-Foxes. They felt the closest to anything resembling home Jean had ever felt, and it had been a matter of months. He had magic, he had the silks, he had _Neil_ , and Kevin and Jeremy, Rhemman and Wymack. He had a place, he had safety. He didn’t need to move, just stay here in Neil’s arm.

 

 

Neil stared at Nicky, face blank, sparing a slight arc of his eyebrow. Jean wanted to kiss it.

 

 

“Group meeting. We’re going to rob the Moriyamas.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i crave validation i shed so many tears about this so pls b e g e nt i l av e c m oi
> 
> the second and final part will be called temperance, also a tarot card :))
> 
> again, i love my artist who had to deal with me in times of excitement, stress, depression and thicc anxiety. you're my rock bro ilu


End file.
